


The Rise, Fall, and Rebirth of Hermione Granger

by missparker



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Illness, Teacher-Student Relationship, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-08
Updated: 2010-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missparker/pseuds/missparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione falls ill in her sixth year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written September 2005.

Hermione got sick in her second to last year of Hogwarts. It started as a cold that wouldn't go away. The unbreakable fever, a constant rawness in her throat, and her body ached where her glands were; around her neck and under her arms the most. She was always tired and had trouble focusing with the intensity that she was used to. She tried not to complain about it much. She went to see Madame Pomfrey a few times but the mediwitch just gave her all the normal tests and a few generic potions and sent her on her way.

Finally, when Hermione botched a relatively easy potion in potions class, Professor Snape asked her to stay behind.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, "you'll receive a zero for today." He waited for her to protest but she coughed demurely into her hand instead. Her color was off and he noticed her leaning into a desk for support. "How long have you felt ill?" he asked, his voice sharp.

"I'm fine, Professor," she said.

"Do not lie to me," he drawled warningly.

"A few months, I suppose, from the very first moment of feeling unwell," she answered promptly, not wanting a late night detention to bog through.

"And what does Pomfrey say?"

"Overexertion, stress, a particularly adamant bug," she said, ticking off her fingers. "I don't think she knows what's wrong."

He nodded, looking her up and down. If she didn't know better, she'd say he almost seemed concerned. He looked at the time; classes were over for the day.

"Come with me," he said, standing and walking briskly toward the door, his robes billowing out behind him. He only slowed his pace when it was clear that she couldn't keep up; she was already short of breath after one flight of stairs.

He entered the infirmary with her still lagging behind. He'd taken her school bag for her two floors ago. She looked as white as one of the very clean sheets strained over the mattress of an infirmary bed. As much as Hermione Granger annoyed Severus Snape on a daily basis, he could see that this was no bug. The girl was seriously ill. No teenage girl, witch or muggle or somewhere it between should struggle to walk across the castle. Pomfrey entered their field of vision and tsked at the sight of Hermione. The mediwitch saw her all too often these days. Snape pointed to the nearest bed and Hermione sat without verbal instruction. He set her bag next to her and stepped away to have a word with Pomfrey. Hermione watched halfheartedly, not really even trying to guess what Snape was saying. Pomfrey was nodding and went to her cabinet to retrieve a potion.

"Miss Granger, dear, I want to perform another test and it's better if you are unconscious while I do it," Pomfrey said. By now, Hermione was used to this and complied without comment. She threw back the bitter brew and sank back against the overly starched pillow. Her vision swam and she saw Snape lean over her with a furrowed brow before everything went dark and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was a new day when she awoke. Her uniform had been folded neatly on the chair beside her and she wore a white, generic nightgown. It was early because the castle was quiet and still in the gray, dawn light. She didn't feel much better – only marginally more rested. Even when she slept all night, she was always tired when she woke up. She waited quietly, contemplating what Snape may have said to Madame Pomfrey. About thirty minutes passed and the infirmary doors were unlocked from the outside. Pomfrey bustled in.

"Good, you're awake," she said, though she didn't sound at all glad. She pulled a chair over to Hermione's bedside and sat down stoutly, her wrinkled hands resting on the crisp white landscape of her apron.

"Did you perform the test?" Hermione asked, softly. "Was it successful?" Pomfrey looked at her lap, as if gathering her thoughts and then smiled grimly at Hermione. Her usual brisk manner was suspended for the moment and she looked almost guilty.

"We figured out why you've been so under the weather, Professor Snape and I, yes," she said.

"Well?"

"I don't quite know how to tell you, but I'm just going to come right out with it. It's cancer, dear," she said. Hermione stilled.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked.

"Cancer, in your bone marrow. It's an early stage so it's good we've caught it, but the coming months will be hard."

"Cancer," Hermione said, looking down at her skinny arms. "I thought it was just a cheeky cold."

oooo

She dressed slowly and went back to Gryffindor tower lethargically. She'd been excused from her classes for the day so the common room was blessedly empty. She took a shower, put on jeans and a sweater. She sent for some breakfast but ate very little of it. She checked the class scheduling posted on the notice board to see when Snape had a free period. When that time came, she made her way to the dungeons to see him, wrapped up in an old, gray cable knit sweater for warmth.

She knocked and he snapped a dour, "Come in!"

She closed the door softly behind her. The room smelled like old gym socks, from whatever potion the third years had botched not very long before. "You missed class this morning, Miss Granger," he said, by way of a greeting.

"I have a note from Madame Pomfrey," she said, reaching into her pocket but he waved it away.

"Have a seat. Was there something you wished to discuss?"

She sat, a little nervous. Snape was being awfully decent which could only mean one thing, really.

"Apparently I'm very sick. But you knew that, didn't you sir?" she asked.

"I suspected. My mother died of cancer," he said.

"So there isn't some cure that the wizards discovered?" she asked.

"No, had we cured cancer we would have given it to the Muggle government as well," he said. "It's a nasty disease."

"I thought as much," she said. "I have to go to St. Mungo's every weekend for treatment, starting tomorrow." There was a short silence. She stared at the blackboard and he down at the papers he'd begun to grade. His silence meant he felt sorry for her. She felt a little sorry for herself.

"Where is it?" he asked. "The cancer?"

"Didn't you stay for the test?" she asked.

"No."

"In my marrow," she said. His face remained impassive but they both knew it wasn't a hopeful place. They could cut out tumors, they could remove breasts. She looked at her fingers, her elbows, her feet. She wondered if it was everywhere. He watched her for a bit; watched her watch herself.

"If there's nothing else, then," he said, stern again. "I'm quite busy."

"Would you like some help?" she asked, suddenly desperate not to be alone with her thoughts which were rapidly becoming more and more morbid.

"I would like to be left alone," he said. She nodded, not really expecting him to be any different, and let herself out of the classroom to the scratching of quill against parchment. In the entrance hall, beside the staircase to the second floor, Dumbledore was waiting patiently.

"Miss Granger, hello," he said, smiling at her. "I was hoping to run into you."

"Hello, Headmaster," she said dutifully. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine," he said, "Just fine."

"Was there something you wanted?" she asked, wishing to avoid the conversation they were destined to have for just a bit longer. She wanted to have a lie down, maybe, or a hot bath.

"Let's go have a seat in the Great Hall for a moment," he said. She nodded and followed him into the abandoned dining room where the long wooden tables were spotless and gleaming. She felt a little cold and sat at the Gryffindor table near the fire. He sat across from her, the table between them. "I'm sorry to hear about your diagnosis, Miss Granger."

She nodded. She wasn't sure what to say - she suspected she might be in shock because she wasn't quite sure how she felt about it. 

"Poppy tells me you'll need to go to London once a week. I'm afraid you're going to get worse before you get better," he said. "I wanted to offer you the option of taking a leave from your studies for the duration of your recovery. You should get well, Miss Granger, and then finish your education. I don't want the stress of exams to slow your progress."

She was aghast. "You want me to leave Hogwarts?" she said, her voice rising.

"Now, now, I said your studies. We live in tumultuous times and I don't believe that returning to your parent's home would do you much good. The muggle process of fighting cancer is much less advanced than the wizard way and with Voldemort on the horizon, the only safe place for a friend of Harry Potter's is within these walls."

She relaxed a little; she didn't have to leave, but then immediately clammed up again at the thought of informing her parents. They would surely try to make her come home. She hadn't really told them about the impending war and they wouldn't be able to understand how she could be more safe at school than at home with them. Her father would probably blame the magic inside her as the cause of the disease. She wondered, briefly, if muggleborns weren't equipped to handle such power – if perhaps the magic was the cause.

"Well," she said, unsure of her place now, "What do I do next?"

oooo

She moved from Gryffindor tower to her own set of permanent quarters. She was no longer required to wear her uniform during school hours and she fought tears when she placed her prefect badge into the palm of Dumbledore's hand. The new rooms were nice and she suspected they were guest quarters or maybe even staff quarters. She had a bedroom with a queen size bed instead of a twin. There was a sitting room with a fireplace and some lounging furniture and a private bathroom with a tub as well as a shower. The windows were large and let in a lot of light and they were an improvement from the small, circular room she'd shared with the same four girls for the last six years. She didn't have much to her name other than clothes and books. And most of her clothes were uniforms. She had a few pair of jeans and some tops. One nice muggle dress and one set of formal robes. A pair of trainers, her black Mary-Jane's that she wore with her uniform, and a pair of slippers. She had two nightgowns, one pair of flannel pajama pants, her grey sweater, her cloak, and her jacket. In the over-sized wardrobe, it all looked rather sparse.

She went to the sitting room to see about putting her books onto the shelves when she noticed a small female elf waiting for her.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello, miss, I is Wally," the elf said, shyly. "I is to be your personal servant." Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. It would be nice to have help if she got any sicker but she didn't want a servant.

"Thank you, Wally," Hermione said, too nauseous to launch into any lectures about elfish welfare at the moment. "I don't need anything at this time." The elf nodded and disappeared. She had little to do for the first time in years. There were no essays to write, no classes to attend, no prefect duties to see to. She had yet to inform Ron and Harry of her diagnosis and swift relocation. In only a few hours they would trudge up to the common room – probably wondering if Hermione had taken another sick day – and call up the stairs to her dormitory. She wondered how long it would take them to realize she was gone.

It was useless to worry about it now – there was still another two hours until dinner. Instead, she fished out a clean piece of parchment and sat down at the desk positioned under one of the windows and set about the tedious task of writing her parents. How could she start? Dear Mum and Dad, I have cancer but it isn't safe for me to leave school? That was hardly tactful. She inked in the date at the top of the page, and set her jaw.

_Dear Mum and Dad –_

_How are you? I miss you both very much and wish I could see you right now. I have something important to tell you and it would be best to do it in person but that isn't an option so I am writing you this letter instead. I've been unwell the past few months. I think I've mentioned it in my weekly letters. I thought it was a persistent flu but one of my Professors suggested I get tested for… well, the thing of it is, I have cancer._

_I didn't even know witches and wizards got cancer! And I assumed that they'd cured it if they have but apparently it is just as serious here as in the muggle world. I don't know what to tell you to stop you from worrying. I know you're going to want me to come home but I can't. It isn't safe for me to leave Hogwarts just now. I am to go into the wizard hospital once a week for treatment. Headmaster Dumbledore told me that the wizard treatment is a lot more comfortable then the muggle treatment, another reason to stay at school. I am taking a leave from my school work, however, to focus solely on getting well. I am against falling behind but I want to fight this, to win._

_I can't imagine what you must be feeling. I promise to keep you updated – to write you daily when I can. I wish I could see you. When I'm in London, I will try to find a telephone and call. I love you both._

_Hermione_

She looked at the parchment. If she were to receive this letter she would be furious at the lack of details but she wanted to go to her first appointment at St. Mungo's before she told them anything else about her condition. She rolled up the parchment and sealed it with her wand. She pulled on her sweater and slowly made her way to the owlery. She wanted to believe that a mistake had been made but she was only half way there and already she was winded; the hand that clutched the letter was trembling. Something was definitely wrong with her. She caught her reflection in a suit of armor and her eyes looked sunken and black against her pallid skin. Her hair was limp and tangled, and her frame looked angular and small. She'd been losing weight. She sighed, trying not to feel sorry for herself.

She entered the darkening owlery – the sun was beginning to set. Soon students would start spilling out of classrooms heading towards the great hall for dinner. Dumbledore had told her she could keep attending meals whenever she felt strong enough – he didn't want to quarantine her. The staff already knew and she assumed he would make some sort of general announcement to explain her prolonged absence. She didn't really want to be there for that. She called down a barn owl and attached the letter and watched him soar off into the setting sun. She turned to head back towards her new rooms to eat dinner by herself and rest up for her trip to London tomorrow. She was startled by the figure leaning against the door frame, watching her send off her letter.

"Good evening, Professor," she greeted.

"Miss Granger, I see we are on the same errand," Snape said, snapping his fingers. A dark owl flew down and extending his leg dutifully. Snape attached the letter and off the owl flew.

"The unfortunate task of informing my parents," she said, nodding towards the open window. "I don't expect it to go well."

"I imagine not," he agreed. "Shall I escort you to dinner?" he asked, extending his arm. She stared at it a moment before shaking her head.

"I wasn't going to go," she said. "I just… I've not told anyone yet and I look a fright and…"

"I understand," he said, his elbow still extended. "To your rooms, then."

"I will be all right on my own," she said.

"Put your hand on my arm, Miss Granger, and allow me to make sure you return safely or I shall be forced to deduct house points," he said. She nodded and rested her hand on his elbow.

"Thank you, Professor. It is very kind of you to offer your assistance," she said.

"I would do the same for any ailing student," he said. She snorted. "Well, perhaps not Potter or Longbottom," he reconsidered. "Or any of the Weasleys. Well, none of the males, Ginny perhaps…"

She snorted, surprised at his conversational tone. "Either way, I will refrain from getting used to your kindness for when I am well and back in your potions class, being the know-it-all that I am," she said, cutting him off before his list of exceptions grew to include the entire school.

"I look forward to that day," he said. She was quiet for the rest of the way back to her rooms and he left her there with a swift goodbye. She watched him sweep down the hall towards dinner until she couldn't see him anymore. She locked herself in her room and thought about the encounter. Snape had still been Snape, of course, but he'd been particularly kind to her. She wondered if he had been with his mother throughout her bout with the disease. She didn't want to think of the road ahead of her – something so bad that even Snape had pity on her.

She called Wally for her dinner but ate very little of it as food tended to upset her stomach more than hunger these days. After the meal, she figured she'd better go to the Gryffindor common room to have a word with the boys. She made her way slowly up the stairs and muttered the password to the fat lady.

"Midnight Sky," she said and climbed into the portrait hole.

Some people were not back from dinner yet, but Harry and Ron were already playing chess by the fire. Both jumped up to see her when she walked in. Ron threw his arms around her and Harry smiled.

"We were worried about you, Hermione! You weren't at meals, in class, and you weren't in your dorm. What's up?" Ron asked.

"Why don't you guys sit down," she said, softly. Harry's face fell.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"You both know I've been sick," she said and proceeded to tell them the events of the last day. They were both speechless.

"Cancer in wizards is really rare," Ron said, looking into the fire.

"Not in muggles," Hermione said, "And I'm both. Professor Snape's mother died of cancer."

"How do you know?" Harry asked, immediately bristling at the mere mention of the loathed Potions Professor.

"He told me is how I know," she snapped, suddenly defensive of Snape. She refused to take his uncharacteristic kindness for granted. She was not naïve enough to think she could get better without the support of others. Still, it was hard for the three of them to swallow. It was not a situation the trio could solve with an invisibility cloak and a bucket full of courage. Their friendship and loyalty to the good wasn't going to cure her.

"I'll go with you, tomorrow," Harry said, defiantly. She gave him a sympathetic look and shook her head. He wanted so badly to save her.

"It's barely safe enough for me to leave the grounds. You'll never be allowed out. But thank you, I appreciate the sentiment."

"Who is taking you, then?" asked Ron.

"I don't know. Madame Pomfrey, I suppose," she said.

They spent the rest of the time quiet and the boys walked her back to her new quarters just in time for curfew.

In the morning, she showered and dressed. She separated her wet hair into three sections and braided it firmly; the muggle way even though she knew the charm. Magic took a lot of energy and she found she was less tired if she just set her wand down when she could and did things the long way. She went down to the entrance hall in her school uniform. She didn't want to go to wizard London in muggle clothes. She wanted to look respectable.

Beside the wooden doors stood not Pomfrey but Snape.

"Miss Granger," he greeted.

"Professor," she replied, "What are you doing here?"

"Poppy thought it prudent to stay on the grounds today since Slytherin and Gryffindor have a Quidditch match," he sneered. "Potter has a tendency to injure himself, after all." She noted he said nothing about Draco plowing straight into the ground going for the snitch on three separate occasions.

"You're taking me, then?" she said but it wasn't really a question.

"I need to go into London anyhow. A matter of convenience."

She nodded, wanting to be braver than she felt.

"Headmaster Dumbledore has provided us with a portkey since you cannot yet apparate," he said. In his hand was a small tea cup. "Hold on, it should activate momentarily."

She reached out and touched a tentative finger to the delicate handle. They stood quietly for a moment and then the immense disorientation set in. She felt her knees give and she stumbled against him. He quickly put the cup away and pulled her up right – his hands on her arms. She lost her color and had to talk herself out of throwing up all over his front.

"All right, then?" he asked softly and she gave a curt nod. She opened her eyes. They were in the waiting room of St. Mungo's. There were so many oddities that no one really noticed the pair appearing. She looked down and noticed they were in a circle, painting onto the linoleum. A designated arrival and departure area. There were several lining the wall and she saw a man step into one and apparate away. Snape stepped away from her, out of the circle, and their contact was severed. She looked around for a bit but he started walking without speaking to the information desk like Mrs. Weasley had last year when they'd come after Mr. Weasley had been attacked. He seemed to already know what floor they wanted. When she'd been here previously, they'd taken the stairs but now he stopped at a bank of lifts. She was glad when they went up several floors. Stairs tired her out too easily. The area of the hospital that they entered next was quiet unlike the bustling waiting room into which they appeared. He wove down a maze of hallways and finally they entered a much smaller waiting room with only five chairs and a bored looking witch behind the desk. "Go on," he said, motioning towards the witch. She nodded and approached the window.

"I'm Hermione Granger. I have an appointment, I believe," she said. The witch glanced down at something in front of her.

"Ahh, yes, the Hogwarts student. I suspect we'll be seeing much more of each other," she said with a faint smile. She couldn't have been much older than Hermione herself. "It will just be a few minutes. I need your wand for the duration of the visit. A safety precaution," she said, reaching out her hand. Hermione glanced back at Snape who nodded and handed her wand over. The receptionist put it into a slender cubby hole at her side. Hermione moved to sit next to Snape. It really only was a few minutes before the door opened and another mediwitch motioned her forward. This times her robes were light blue instead of the general lime green of St. Mungo's employees. Hermione gathered this to mean she was specialized in something. Probably fatal diseases. She tried not to think about it.

"Granger?" The mediwitch asked and she nodded – looked over her shoulder at Snape.

"I'll be here to get you when you're done," he assured her and she suddenly wanted him to go in with her desperately, as if she were a child being lead to get a shot but she wasn't a child any longer and this was much more than just a shot. She nodded at him, looked forward, and walked.

They put her in an exam room but it was different than a muggle hospital. There were no metal instruments, or boxes of latex gloves, or blood pressure devices bolted to the walls. There was a cot, a few chairs, and a locked cupboard she presumed was filled with salves and potions. Soon an older witch came in and sat in the chair across from Hermione.

"I'm Healer McKinney," she said. "You must be Hermione."

"Yes," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"I suspect not." The healer laughed. "It's never good to have to treat a Hogwarts student. They're so young. A Prefect, at that," she said looking at the yellow "p" stitched into her robes to show where the badge was meant to go. She'd already given it back to Dumbledore. She reached up and felt the stitching with her finger.

"I'm not doing my classes right now," Hermione said, softly. "I'm to concentrate on getting better."

"Let me tell you about what is going to happen. You'll be put on a regiment of daily potions and come in once a week for intensive spell casting that should help your bone marrow regenerate. The potions focus on killing the sick cells. There are some side effects. The potions will make you dizzy, weak, and nauseous. Your body will need all its energy to fight and so doing magic will be difficult and your spells won't be as powerful or precise. I suspect that is part of the reason you'll need a break from your lessons," she told Hermione.

"Will I lose my hair?" she asked. It was a vain question but she wanted to know the answer all the same.

"Goodness no, why would you think that?"

"I'm muggleborn and when doctors treat cancer, the process makes hair fall out," she said.

"That is preposterous," she said. "I'll give you written instructions on all of your medication. Let's get started, shall we?"

oooo

Hermione woke up on the cot some hours later. She felt as if she'd been hexed to within an inch of her life and then trampled by elephants and then cursed a few times for good measure. She didn't even want to open her eyes but she did. There were no windows in the room so she couldn't gauge how much time had passed. She was cold; she wished she had a blanket. Her uniform felt itchy and the tie was too tight around her throat. She reached up to loosen the knot, and her arms felt as heavy as lead.

"Miss Granger."

She could recognize that voice in a heartbeat and she opened her eyes to look at Snape who was looming over her bed.

"It's time to go," he said.

"Just leave me here to die," she said, coughing a bit over the sarcasm. She wasn't sure if she was even being sarcastic.

"I'll help you up, we'll take it slow," he promised, offering a hand. She ignored his offer and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The sudden motion was too much and she leaned over the side of the bed and threw up. Snape's face remained impassive as he took a step back to avoid getting any of it on his shoes and the mess was gone as soon as it came with a wave of his wand.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt a little better.

"No matter," he said, and she stood shakily. He lifted her cloak from the chair and placed it around her shoulders, fastening it for her. Then, with a hand on the small of her back, he led her back to the waiting room and retrieved her wand for her which he didn't immediately give back, but put it in the pocket that held his own. She didn't protest – she'd not be able to do anything with any how, short of poking someone. "We need to go back to the main waiting room for the portkey to work," he informed her, ushering her into the lift. The ride made her turn slightly green but they made it without more sickness. In the waiting room, he fished the same tea cup out and lifted her hand to it. Soon, they were outside the gates of Hogwarts and Hermione was on her hands and knees, throwing up once more. Her whole body ached with the act of being sick and she felt as if she was not just throwing up the contents of her stomach but her actual stomach as well. Finally, the retching stopped and she shakily rose to her feet, only to feel her knees give and she sat back on the ground, shivering.

"I didn't know," she said, "that it would feel like this." She looked up at him helplessly and he actually looked concerned as opposed to the mask of indifference he'd worn earlier - still an improvement on his regular expression of contempt.

"The first time is always the worst," he said and she nodded, grateful. It was something to hold onto. She didn't know how they were going to get to the gates when she couldn't even stand. He could float her body only if she was unconscious and she wished for unconsciousness but it didn't come on the cold, rocky ground. Instead, he scooped her up into his surprisingly strong arms and strode purposefully towards the castle. She wondered if Ron and Harry were watching this pathetic display from Gryffindor Tower through the windows but she found she really didn't care.

"I'm so embarrassed," she muttered softly. She was close to him – she knew he could hear her whispers.

"I'll only use it against you when you are well," he said, dryly and she wanted to laugh but she couldn't. The doors seemed to know they were coming and opened accordingly. Their timing was something awful, however, as it was just as dinner was getting out and the main hall was filled with people all warm and happy, stuffed with food. Hermione vowed never to eat again.

It was the thing Hogwarts legends were made of - a few people even shrieked when the front doors banged open and the setting sun silhouetted the intimidating form of Professor Snape holding a woman who clung feebly to him, her arms around his neck. The students parted like the red sea as the doors closed behind them. He snarled at anyone who dared to make eye contact with him and she just closed her eyes. If she couldn't actually be unconscious, she would fake it. Finally she felt them ascending the stairs and she only opened her eyes when he asked the password to her quarters.

"Restricted Section," she said and the portrait swung open. He wound his way around furniture, deposited her on the bed, set her wand and a package on her night stand and left without a word. She wanted to call out a thank you but she slept instead.

When she woke (though she fought valiantly to stay asleep), she reached for the package Snape had left. She untied the string and removed the heavy brown paper. The potions were inside. Enough for the week – until her next torture session at the hospital. The spells the healer had performed were so strong that they had sent her into convulsions. She didn't want to go back.

Next to the bottles were instructions as promised – what vials to take on what day and whether she should take them with or without food. Reading the complicated instructions, she felt like a magical geriatric. Underneath the curly script was the small, spiky writing of Snape.

Call Wally when you wake.

He didn't have to sign it. She cleared her throat and said the elf's name. Wally appeared within moments.

"Madame Pomfrey wishes to see you," Wally said, "After you've eaten." Food sounded like a punishment but when she pulled on her robe and crawled out of bed, there was a covered tray on the table. Inside was some soup – mostly broth – some bread, pumpkin juice, and tea. All foods she could probably keep down. She ate slowly and the soup made her feel a bit better. She brushed her teeth and felt more human. She didn't particularly feel like traipsing across the castle. In fact, she was pretty sure it was the middle of the night. She looked at the clock – 2:16 am. She wasn't sure curfew didn't apply to her still. Then she saw the floo powder near the fire place. She threw a pinch in – Wally must have lit the hearth – and the flames turned green.

"Madame Pomfrey," she called, clearly.

"Come on through, dear," she heard and so she stepped into the flame. It was much less painful than portkeys. She wondered if they could floo to London. "I was beginning to worry. I would have come to you in another ten minutes," she said, tiredly.

"Wally said to eat first." Hermione explained.

"Yes, indeed. Now, how are you feeling?" Hermione had to think about how to answer. She felt better than when she'd woken up the first time and emptied her stomach but she still felt exhausted and wrung out.

"I threw up in front of Professor Snape," she decided on lamely.

"So he told me," she chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it, dear. It probably won't be the last time." Hermione looked up sharply.

"He is going to keep bringing me?" she asked.

"Heaven knows I offered but it's on Dumbledore's orders," she said, shrugging. "I expected to never hear the end of it from Severus but he just nodded," Pomfrey said and Hermione immediately understood. Dumbledore's orders. He wanted someone from the Order to accompany her. To keep her safe outside the walls of the castle. She waited patiently for Pomfrey to test her and tell her to take it easy before she went back to her room through the fireplace. She waited a few hours – bathed and changed her clothes. When it was late enough, she flooed to the Gryffindor common room and slowly climbed the stairs to the boy's dormitory. Since it was Sunday, all the boys were still asleep at 8:00 am. She crawled into Harry's bed and lay down next to him.

"'Mione, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching for his glasses.

"Nothing, just go back to sleep," she said. She'd come to tell him of her experiences but instead just fell asleep next to her best friend.

oooo

They spent the day walking slowly around the grounds. Ron told her that Dumbledore had announced why Hermione had been so absent – that she was sick and probably would not return for the rest of the school year to her classes.

"Most people seemed sad," Ron said.

"Except for the Slytherins," Harry muttered.

"Did they make a new prefect?" she asked, sadly.

"Rachel Rochester – a girl from Ravenclaw," Harry said. Hermione knew her. At least she wasn't a Slytherin. Finally, the boys had to run off to quidditch practice and so she was left on her own to make her way slowly home. The younger students knew of her but didn't speak to her. A few Slytherins shot nasty glances or snickered. She saw Neville on his way to the greenhouses and he shyly hugged her and wished her well. Once in the castle, she saw Nearly Headless Nick and he – like a gentleman – floated by her all the way to her portrait.

By day four, she was going stir crazy with boredom. She longed to go back to class but she was hardly able to do a sustained wingardium leviosa spell, let alone transfigure anything. But she could do potions or history of magic or ancient runes all without a wand. She decided to ask Professor McGonagall if she could resume an altered, lightened schedule. She was also beginning to wonder if the magic in her body was simply inaccessible or if it was gone. Where did magic reside? Within the witch or wizard or somewhere else? In the earth? She would go to the library. Reading quietly was something she could do without tiring herself out. She spent most of the day in the library reading history books and books on elemental magic – filling rolls of parchment with her cramped notes.

When the bells chimed for dinner she decided to join the rest of the student body in the Great Hall. Several Gryffindors greeted her despite her perpetually disheveled appearance. McGonagall nodded approvingly at her. She stood out in the sea of uniforms – her blue jeans and grey jumper were stark in the sea of dark colors. She always used to let her hair hang free – always too busy and distracted to bother with it but now (with time so abundant) she plaited it every day; two buoyant braids down her back. She was considering cutting it short.

Harry and Ron immediately made space for her. She wasn't very hungry for the potions kept all of her insides churning. Still, she nibbled as best she could. She was still losing weight and Pomfrey was already talking about putting her on weight gaining protein shakes. Hermione had never been skinny, or fat. She wasn't slender – she was well proportioned but thick and a little sturdy. Now, she was thin – she'd lost her healthy glow. Everyone asked how she was and most people watched her pretend to eat her dinner. She glanced up to the head table where Snape stared into his food, glumly spooning mashed potatoes in past his thin lips. She'd not seen him since he carried her to her bed. She wanted to thank him but she doubted he would appreciate it. She could perhaps mention something on their next (dreaded) outing. Suddenly, he looked up and met her gaze. They stared at each other, each unwilling to look away first. It grew uncomfortable. Finally, he nodded as if she had earned a greeting, and resumed the intense contemplation of his dwindling dinner.

She waited for McGonagall to rise and timed her exit to correspond.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the Scottish woman greeted warmly.

"Good evening, Professor. I was hoping to have a word with you?" McGonagall nodded. "I wanted to know if I could perhaps attend my classes that didn't require the direct use of magic. Potions, or History…"

"Miss Granger, I thought you and the headmaster agreed on this?" she said, cutting off Hermione's excitement at the quick.

"Yes, but…"

"But what?"

"I'm bored, Professor!" Hermione cried. McGonagall smiled sympathetically.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." Hermione could tell that her request to rejoin her classmates, albeit part time, was denied. Her irregular presence, McGonagall told her later in her tower office, would be a disruption and should the occasional need of magic arise – Dumbledore didn't want the temptation to strain herself overwhelm her.

"We need you, Miss Granger," he said softly, sitting on the edge of McGonagall's desk. She was too scared to ask why and she wondered vaguely if there was a prophetic glass orb somewhere with her name on it on a dusty shelf. She didn't want the responsibility so soon. Instead, she was granted permission for an independent study project.

"Do you think Professor Snape would be willing to sponsor me?" she asked, suddenly timid. Dumbledore winked at her.

"Perhaps for you," he said. "though that will be the true challenge – not the academia." Hermione wisely chose not to respond.

The next weekend, the wait in the waiting room was much longer and Hermione decided to broach the subject of an Independent Study Project with him. She was sitting quietly in her uniform that now hung off of her in the most unattractive manner, especially next to Snape whose clothes were always so well tailored to his willowy form. She had her hands between her knees and her shoulders hunched in the anticipation of the horrid hours ahead of her. But now she squared herself and looked up at him. He had buried himself in the Daily Prophet.

"Professor," she stared and then lost her words. The paper lowered just enough so his eyes showed, looking her.

"Yes?" he asked, drawling the 's' out so that it was hissed.

"I had a word with the headmaster the other day and he thought that, perhaps, a project would be a good way to spend my recovery period. Something I could work on at my own pace… a subject of my choosing," she said.

"Oh how marvelous for you," he said sarcastically and lifted his paper again.

"Yes, I agree," she barreled on, ignoring his disposition. "As you know, in my… restricted state, there are only a few subjects I can study that take little to no magic and while I find Muggle studies and the history of magic to be fascinating subjects, I would much rather…"

"I see where this is going, Miss Granger, and I can assure you the answer is no," he said, folding up his paper briskly, in a way that suggested the tepid conversation had ended.

"I wouldn't even need to interact with you directly, sir, just a space in your classroom when you didn't have a class and your signature on my weekly progress report," she argued, frustrated she'd not even gotten to ask before he refused her.

"I already give up the majority of my Saturday for you Miss Granger and I believe that to be quite enough," he said and she was saved having to think of an answer because her name was called and this time as she followed the healer, she was glad he wasn't coming in with her.

When she came to, he was not waiting for her like the previous week. She felt just as awful but she managed to be sick in the bin instead all over the floor. She had to leave the mess, however, because she couldn't magic it away like he had. It was a foul color, all pinks and greens from the potions she'd ingested and the yellowish tint that was her stomach's digestive acids. Dry heaving was the worst really. She was covered with sweat and she wanted to stand and wet a paper towel to clean off her mouth but there was no way she could stand; even sitting up caused her vision to swim dangerously. She started to panic, realizing just how helpless she really was. Anyone could stroll in and murder her and she could do absolutely nothing to defend herself. Her wand was out in the waiting room, but she doubted she could even extinguish the lights let alone hex anyone even if she did have it. She was, she realized, only a slight step up from a squib. She started to cry now, in earnest, big tears of self-loathing and self-pity. She was scared and disappointed in herself, she couldn't get her hands to stop trembling and her hair was matted to her face. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably and she needed a restroom rather badly but couldn't do a thing about it except continue to sit there and cry. She'd been Muggle for longer then she'd been a witch but she didn't think she could go back. She adored magic.

She looked around, trying to see if there was a way she could call a nurse but there was nothing to indicate how. She, thankfully, didn't have to wait long before there was a light knock and a mediwitch she'd not seen before came in to check on her.

"You're awake!" she said, looking horrified at the girl's disheveled state. "What's wrong?" Hermione, not trusting herself to speak, pointed across the room to the loo and the nurse relaxed visibly and moved to help her up. They walked slowly across the room and the woman held her up while she shyly sat on the toilet and relieved herself. That made her feel a bit less desperate but still embarrassed as the woman led her back to the bed.

"Where is Professor Snape?" she asked, her voice raw and uncertain.

"Who?" the nurse asked, looking confused. She spied the bin and wrinkled her nose, removing the mess with a swish of her wand. Hermione was suddenly insanely jealous and would have scowled at the woman had she been able to do anything but lie there helplessly shaking.

"My escort. Tall, all in black, hard to miss," she said, through clenched teeth.

"Oh, well, yes, I did see him. Healer McKinney suggested that you stay the night so I suppose he will be back in the morning?" she said, but it was obvious she had no idea. Her lime green robe – just a regular nurse then – stretched taut around her thick form made Hermione's head ache.

"I don't think he would leave me here," she said, but she wasn't sure if she believed her own statement. She didn't believe that a member of the Order would leave a friend of Harry Potter's on his or her own in a very vulnerable state but she did believe Severus Snape would leave Hermione Granger to fend for herself. She remembered her third year, his arms wrapping around her to protect her from Lupin as a werewolf. Would he leave her? She wasn't sure.

"I'll check for you," the woman said. "But first we need to get you changed." She waved her wand and Hermione's robes transfigured into a hospital nightgown. Blankets were pulled up to her chin and a dreamless sleep drought was given to her. "I'll be around in a few hours," the nurse promised. "Just rest."

"But I want… Snape," she said, trying to stress the importance of finding out where her Potions Professor and weekend guardian went to but the nurse just extinguished the lights and closed the door behind her. "Snape," she called but no one answered and she slept against her own will.

She felt a cool, dry hand upon her forehead and it pulled her from her sleep.

"The girl is wrought with fever," the voice was deep and distant. "Give her something; she is not fit to travel. I don't want her to be in pain." Hermione struggled to open her eyes. The cool hand left and she mewed her disappointment. She felt warm, uncomfortably so and she wished someone would pull the scratchy blankets off of her. She wanted her mother who always gave her ginger ale and white crackers when she was ill. Her mother read to her and lay cool washcloths on her forehead when she was feverish. She held her hair back when she was sick and rubbed her back. She wanted her mother. She opened her eyes to ask for her mother but saw light blue robes and a black shadow hovering above her.

"I cannot give her a fever reduction potion, Mr. Snape, you know it conflicts with her treatment." The woman who spoke sounded impatient. "This to and fro from Hogwarts business isn't good for her. I don't understand why she can't check in to the hospital."

"Albus Dumbledore wants her at Hogwarts. If the travel isn't good, then you will come to her," the male voice demanded. Was that Snape, as the woman said? He sounded so far away. Her vision couldn't clear.

"I am far too busy for that," the woman snapped.

"Then our present arrangement will have to continue," he said. "Prepare her for leaving; I will see to it that she makes it back unharmed."

She felt arms slide underneath her and lift her up to carry her away from the bed. She looked up at the dark shadow she knew to be Snape blearily.

"They told me you left me," she said, her own voice sounding foreign, like listening to herself on a recording.

"No, Miss Granger, I was here the whole time," he said, but she shook her head and tried to squirm out of the grasp of whomever held her.

"You weren't there when I woke up!" she screeched as his figure shrunk, they were moving away from him.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he sounded sincere. "I had to wait in another room."

"Promise me!" she said, twisting to keep him in her vision. He loomed in the distance now, his form growing and shrinking – never still. She was delusional with fever. She didn't know what she wanted him to promise. "Promise me," she said again, anyway.

"I promise you," he said and then he was gone, a wooden door behind her. She closed her eyes, content with his word. They undressed her; put her in a tub of cool water. The woman from earlier, the same one who did her magic in front of Hermione so carelessly, ran a washrag over her skinny, naked form, washing the fever away. They dried her, and put her clothes back on, the uniform not nearly so crisp now, and set her in a wheel chair. She couldn't keep her head up. She let it droop down and closed her eyes, the fever shunning her into unconsciousness once more.


	2. Chapter 2

The fever took a long time to break – her body was really fighting now. She woke in the hospital wing, with Harry sitting miserably at her bedside. All thoughts of Independent Study were gone for the moment.

"Harry?" she asked, rolling her head over to look at him.

"Hey," he said, sitting up and reaching for her hand.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You had a fever," he said. "You've been out of it for a couple days."

"A couple days?" she asked. "What's today?"

"Tuesday," he admitted and she looked horrified. "But Madame Pomfrey said that you probably haven't been getting enough rest or nourishment and this was your body's way of forcing you to rest," he explained. "There isn't anything to worry about."

"There is plenty to worry about," she said, coughing a little. "What else did she have to say?"

"You aren't eating enough," he said. "She's going to regulate your diet." Hermione frowned.

"I'm just so sick to my stomach all the time," she said.

"There was one other thing," he said, whispering. "I overhead her and Snape talking about it when I came in to visit you. They think you might have to start going twice a week."

"It's getting bigger, isn't it? The cancer is spreading." She'd been worried about it – bone marrow was so aggressive and often spread easily to and from other organs.

"I think it's just not getting smaller," he said. "They didn't say anything about it spreading."

The meal time bells began to chime, the deep sounds reverberating through the thick stone walls. Harry looked over his shoulder to the doors.

"Ron said he would come by after dinner," Harry said. "But I have to go. I'm glad you woke up."

"Thanks for sitting with me Harry," she said, and rolled over to face the white curtains that separated her bed from the rest of the room. She heard his footsteps receding and the door close with a wooden clunk. She didn't know what to think. Shouldn't the procedure show some signs of success after the second treatment? She was young, resilient, of a sturdy background. She was only seventeen. Cancer wasn't something most seventeen-year-olds worried about. She heard someone coming towards her and then Madame Pomfrey pulled the curtains back, the plastic rings scraping against the metal pole loudly.

"Harry told me you'd rejoined us, Miss Granger," she said, almost warmly. "Good to see the whites of your eyes." Hermione didn't respond. "Well, I have your potions and your mail," she said, shrugging, and left her vials and a stack of letters on the table next to her bed. She sat up and drank her potions quickly, no longer grimacing at the taste. She was used to it. Then she grabbed the stack and flipped through it anxiously until she found was she was looking for – a response from her parents. Their silence had been unsettling – though she knew it was usually the time of year they took a holiday. They'd probably just been gone. She tore open the Muggle envelope (thin paper, as opposed to the thick parchment of the wizarding world) and was immediately comforted by the familiar sight of her mother's handwriting.

Hermione,

Dearest, there aren't words. I refuse to believe what you have written to us. There has to be a mistake. I've always been dubious about wizard medicine and I know you've explained why you think you should stay at school but I am begging you to come home and let Dr. White have a look at you. I want to have a good look at you as well. You cannot understand the horror of knowing your child is sick and not being there to take care of her. I hope someone is taking care of you there. I plan to write Headmaster Dumbledore as soon as I finish this letter to you. I never thought this would happen. I want to be the sick one, not you. Can we come to Hogwarts? Or to the hospital in London? What do you need? New clothes, medicines, candy, books, games? Let me know, I'll send you anything, my love. Write with more details. I am truly beside myself and your father hasn't said a word since I've told him. I love you, we both do.

Love,

Mum

She folded the letter carefully and hid it under her pillow. She knew that they would want her to come home. She hadn't wanted to at first – stopping her classes had been appalling enough. That was before, though, and now she considered moving home. Setting the issue of her safety aside for a moment, she imagined watching Wally pack up her trunk, she imagined climbing onto the train, pushing through the King's Cross barrier, climbing into her parent's Volvo, spending her days sleeping in her small, lavender bedroom, going to a Muggle hospital, taking pills not potions, getting radiation, not spells. Losing her hair. Checking into the stark white hospital where they would put her on IVs and slowly kill away all of her t-cells. Bone marrow transplants; thick needles invading her bones.

Well.

Plus, Voldemort would probably kill her there if the cancer didn't.

It wasn't long before Pomfrey let her floo back to her rooms. She didn't want to go to bed; she didn't want to write her mother back just yet. She wasn't hungry, she didn't feel like reading. The excitement she'd felt over her ISP seemed liked ages ago. She was officially depressed. She ran a bath in her tub. She decided against any bubbles or fragrances. They tended to irritate her skin these days and so she sat on the edge of the tub and watched if fill nearly to the brim with hot water. She automatically reached for her wand to perform a heating charm – it would make the water stay hot for hours – and she stopped herself just in time before performing. They'd told her she'd be bad at magic and that it would drain her. She'd believed them and hadn't done magic since. She didn't feel like calling Wally to do the simple spell for her. In a fit of defiance, she swished her wand and said the incantation to cast the spell.

A wispy bit of red light sputter from the end of the wand and she immediately felt dizzy. Well, at least she knew they weren't lying. She immediately regretted the rash choice. Had Professor Dumbledore ever lied to her before? She tried to shake it off. She drank some cool water from the sink faucet and removed her clothes slowly. She would just summon the elf when she wanted the water reheated, or just drain the tub and start again. Frankly, she planned to spend the whole afternoon in there.

She slid into the water hissing but acclimated to the hot water quickly. She always made the water as hot as possible – she didn't like to be cold. The water relaxed her tense, sore body. It also made her even more light headed and tired. The combination of the heat and her stupid attempt at magic was overloading her senses. She had the fleeting thought that she might not be able to get out of the tub by herself but she was determined to worry about that when the time came. She slunk down in the big tub and got her hair wet. The curls immediately fell straight and her hair reached her waist. It was quiet long these days, and inches were added when it wasn't sprung up into corkscrews.

She washed her hair – her shampoo smelled like lavender and was lovely but did nothing about keeping her awake – and then studied the ends floating in the now soapy water around her. It took a lot of shampoo and conditioner to keep up so much hair. She needed a hair cut. There were spells for that sort of thing but now she wondered if they might leave a bit early on their next trip to London so she could go to a Muggle salon and fix everything up. Her shaggy hair did nothing to add to an already unkempt appearance. She thought about dying it as well. It was against school rules to dye one's hair during the school year. Something she didn't understand but adhered to nonetheless. If someone wanted to have neon blue hair, why stop them? She'd never stray from nature but she'd always considered going to a deep, chestnut brown or maybe adding a little red into it. It was so mousy. She'd asked Tonks once about that rule and she'd smiled and said,

"I had it all sorts of colors and styles. I never dyed it so I wasn't breaking any rules. They couldn't do a thing," she'd smirked. Hermione studied her hair now. She could trim it herself with a pair of scissors – perhaps Ginny would help her with the back. The more she thought about it, the more she knew Professor Snape would never go for a salon. She would ask her mother to send her a box of Muggle dye. She would do it herself.

Satisfied with a project that was just rebellious enough and small enough for her to handle, she reached for the conditioner and liberally massaged it into her hair. She washed. She shaved. She pampered herself fully and then decided to just lie there for awhile, appreciating the quiet. As she was studying the frightful angle at which her ribs and hips poked out, she heard – faintly – knocking at the door of her portrait. It was probably Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Harry had said they might stop by to visit. She wasn't sad about not visiting them. All they did was stare at her with eyes full of pity. She didn't want their pity, she wanted their understanding.

The knocking continued and she heard Harry calling her name faintly. She pushed herself up onto her feet to hear better but the sudden upward motion made her so dizzy that she slipped and fell backwards. She hit the back of her head on the edge of the tub and slid under the cooling water, unconscious.

oooo

She felt someone lifting her up. She felt the water fall from her frame and soak into the itchy wool of the clothing around the arms that held her. She started to cough and cough and water was coming up and she could hardly spit it out for all the coughing. Why was she wet? What was happening? She felt the arms let her go – no! – and someone charmed her dry and pulled a blanket over her.

"Miss Granger!" She heard her name being called.

"Hermione!" Oh, she recognized Ginny's voice, high and desperate. She opened her eyes to look at her redheaded friend. She was a bit blurry, but there. Short and fiery Ginny, looking only marginally less distressed than she'd sounded.

"Hello," she said. She rolled her head around. "Professor Snape?" Was it the weekend already? But then, why was Ginny there?

"Miss Granger, how do you feel?" he asked, and leaned towards her, pushing his fingers into the mass of brown hair at the back of her head – the hair underneath was still damp despite the drying charm. Her head was cradled in the crook of this arm as his fingers softly probed her scalp.

"Ow," she said, faintly. "That hurts."

"You fell in the tub, you hit your head. Harry and Ron and I were knocking," Ginny said. "You didn't answer."

"In the tub?" she said. "Where are they?"

"In the living room," Snape said. "You were somewhat… indecent." He looked away. She looked down, saw that she was covered now.

"What are you doing here, then?" She asked Snape, trying to sit up but the hand in her hair moved swiftly to her shoulder and pushed her thin body back into the mattress. He was so close to her.

"I was walking by, and a lucky thing, too, for I was the only one who knew your password," he said, softly, his gaze settling on her eyes. She could smell peppermint tea on his breath, and it was not unpleasant. "Restricted Section," he said.

"I must have stood up too… I got dizzy," she said, whispering.

"You could have drowned," he said, sternly. He stood up straight, looked at Ginny who was watching this all with an unreadable expression. "Miss Weasley, go inform Potter and your brother that Miss Granger will be fine," he said. Ginny seemed a little reluctant to go but finally skirted out of the room under the unwavering gaze of her Potions professor. Snape turned back to Hermione, whose head was beginning to clear and who was now hugging the blanket more tightly around her. "We need to talk about a few things," he said.

"Perhaps you could… my robe is on that chair," she said, motioning to a thin, purple cotton robe that was draped over a chair.

"Of course," he said, handing it to her. He turned his back on her and she quickly pushed down the blanket and secured the robe around her. She ignored the fleeting thought that for a few seconds, she was naked in the same room as Snape. She cleared her throat and he turned around again. "Miss Granger, I wasn't just passing by. I was coming to speak with you about your treatments," he said.

"They aren't working," she whispered, touching the back of her head to see if she'd bled. It was tender, but her fingers came back clean.

"No. But, they are not failing you either. There is neither improvement nor decline," he said. "St. Mungo's suggests you come in twice a week for treatment."

It was just as Harry had over heard. She grimaced. It was so much work going there once a week – so much time for Snape to take off… traveling time, waiting for her to recover enough to come back to Hogwarts. It took all day, if not more. Last time she'd spent the night.

"It would be pointless for me to stay at Hogwarts. I'd have to admit myself," she said.

"Indeed," he agreed. He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, and he looked a little damp still. She motioned to the chair where her robe had been and he nodded, and sat down. "You cannot leave Hogwarts."

"Wait, what? You just said…"

"It isn't safe. The Dark Lord knows of your illness," he said, quiet. She felt a thick sense of dread settle somewhere in the bottom of her empty stomach.

"How?" she whispered.

"I keep him updated on the activities of Harry Potter and his two best friends. He knows when I lie," he said and he actually sounded a little regretful. "It isn't safe for you to leave Hogwarts."

"I don't blame you," she said. "It's your job." He looked at her for a long moment, but didn't acknowledge the comment.

"There is an alternative," he continued. "When my mother was sick, we tried a variety of treatments to try to save her."

"We?" she interrupted and he gave her a sour look.

"My associate and I. She was old, and weak, and the attempts did not save her. I have been working on the cure ever since. I think that I have found a satisfactory balance of potions and charm work to eradicate the cancerous cells from your bones, Miss Granger."

"Are you saying you've cured cancer?" she asked, sitting up in earnest now. He scooted his chair closer to her bed side.

"I think, in your case, we could be successful. You are young and in the early stages of the disease. You are strong enough to withstand the intensity."

"Intensity?" she asked. "What could be more intense than the treatments I already endure?"

"This is not for the weak of will. You would have to be under my constant supervision. You need to receive treatment every hour, and then every day, and then every week, and so on. It is a long, constant process."

"What about your classes?" she asked.

"I would stop them for the duration," he said.

"Professor I couldn't ask you to do that," she said.

"I am doing it for the sake of research and finding a cure, Miss Granger. You happen to be the perfect candidate."

"Of course," she said. "I'd like to take a look at your research first."

"Very well," he said, though he didn't look very happy about it.

"Either way, though, it doesn't seem as if I have much of a choice." She looked a little overwhelmed. Then suddenly, as if a light had gone on in her attic, she squeaked, "Did you see me naked?"

"Yes," he said, a little surprised at her blunt question, but Snape was the sort of man who only lied when he needed to.

"I should have been more careful," she said, but mostly to herself, holding her robe more tightly around her.

"I need to go inform Headmaster Dumbledore of our decision," he said. "I will be by in an hour to help you get situated."

"What do you mean situated?"

"I told you, Miss Granger. You need to be under my constant supervision. You'll be moved to the dungeons." With that, he swept from her bedchambers and she still had a somewhat shocked expression when Harry, Ron, and Ginny came in.


	3. Chapter 3

She felt brittle. She was afraid to go anywhere alone – walk anywhere too fast. What if she were to trip and land awkwardly on the stone paths of Hogwarts? Would her bones shatter? They would crack, at least. One of the many daily potions she took was Skele-grow. The deep green potion was a pain-killer and that one was her favorite. She wasn't allowed to have it as much or as often. Logically she understood that she could easily become addicted to it, but the way her body cramped up sometimes. She could hardly move when that happened and only that green, liquid cool would ease it.

The dungeons were always damp and dark. She didn't go above ground anymore. She was like a ghost, a crying former student trapped in a u-bend. It seemed like years ago when she would bound up and down stairs on her nightly prefect rounds. Decades ago that she was worrying about her O.W.L.s. The only person who saw her was Professor Snape. He came in every hour to administer new potions or cast new spells.

She'd been surprised with the move. She'd expected rooms much like the ones they'd given her when she'd left her dorm. She'd expected privacy. Instead, Wally packed only clothes in her overnight bag and left most of her books and trunk in the guest quarters. It wasn't like they needed the space – Hogwarts rarely had guests. She flooed into Snape's office and he led her to a small room that was off of his private lab. If she'd been well, she would have marveled at the private lab – so much superior to the workbenches in the classroom but now all she could do was vaguely register it as she was led into what was going to be her home for the next three months.

The room was small and sparse. It had two twin beds pushed against the opposite walls. In between them was a wooden nightstand with one drawer. There were two doors – she assumed one as a bathroom and the other a closet. On one of the beds was her duffle bag. She looked at Snape who was standing behind her. He answered her unspoken question.

"At the beginning of the treatment, I will need to see you every hour. The other bed is for me." She chose not to respond. She just moved into the room and sat gingerly on the edge of the far bed. She'd read his notes. She knew what was going to come. For the beginning of the treatment she wouldn't be herself. She would be out of it – he predicted hallucinations, fever dreams, and the suchlike. As her body healed and acclimated, she would come back down and become more and more lucid as the time between treatments lengthened. The treatments were to actually remove all the marrow in her bones and coax new, uninfected marrow to grow in its place. She would be much worse and weaker before she got better.

They got started at once.

She had vague, fragmented memories of the first month. She was aware that she was in the dungeon room and that Snape came and went and that she had to sit up and drink potions. She remembered the light coming out of the end of his long, thin, dark wand and shooting into her, wrapping its willowy heat around and around her bones. She remembered him chanting, his velvety voice pushing the magic out of him and on to her. The whole room came alive with his power – draining him to keep her alive. She remembered afterward, after the casting was over. He would take a potion – for energy – and then he would collapse on the bed.

Sometimes she just went to sleep afterward. Sometimes the magic didn't take well and she screamed and writhed and he had to hold her arms and legs down so that she didn't hurt herself. Then he would smooth her hair back from her face and beg her to sleep.

"You won't heal if you don't sleep," he would say. She remembered him saying it again and again. She didn't want to disappoint him. She closed her eyes.

Then he started to come less. She only saw him when he came in to administer her treatments. It was every hour for so long and then, suddenly, once a day. She saw him come into the room.

"Hello," she said.

"Miss Granger," he said. "You're awake." She nodded, and sat up. "How do you feel?"

"Like I could use a shower," she said. "A little hungry."

"That's to be expected. The worst of the treatment, phase one, has ended."

"And?" she asked.

"It seems to be working. There are no longer any cancerous cells left in your body. Now it is a matter of growing healthy cells back," he explained.

"Who is teaching your classes?" she asked. "I keep forgetting to ask you." He stared at her, as if deciding to tell her.

"Remus Lupin," he said, finally. "Not that he was ever any good at potions."

"He's a member of the Order, though," she pointed out and he nodded.

"Indeed." They were quiet for a moment. "I'm afraid it's time, Miss Granger." She nodded, and he sat at the edge of her bed, fishing his wand from his robes.

"Professor Snape?" she said, putting her hand on his arm, stilling it. "Thank you." He didn't respond.

oooo

Time had no meaning for Hermione anymore. There was only the pain and the hours in between. At least now, when she woke up, she knew who she was. She started eating again, instead of drinking nutritional supplements. He would bring her bowls of soup, mugs of tea, and bowls of oatmeal or applesauce. She ate slowly. She went to the bathroom by herself.

She stood looking in the mirror. She could hardly recognize the reflection staring back. The gaunt face, colorless skin, wild, knotted hair.

She asked Snape for a pair of scissors and he watched impassively from the doorway as she chopped her hair off nearly to the scalp, leaving only a few inches. She looked even more like a ghost. Like a skeleton, like someone toeing the line of the living.

"Not much of an improvement," he said.

"It will grow back," she said. "I'd like to take a shower or a bath. I know you've been using cleansing charms, and I appreciate that but it's never quite the same." She faltered at how to say the next thing. "Look, we both know I'm not strong enough to do anything on my own. I have a bathing suit in my bag…"

"Put it on," he said. She nodded, knowing better than to upset him with gratitude. The suit, a one piece, didn't fit well at all but he ran her the bath and helped her in and left her alone. When she called for him, he came in quietly. She wasn't ready to get out quiet yet, though. She was just lonely. There were bubbles in the water so he could only see her head and the top of her knobby knees anyway.

"How much longer, do you think?" she asked.

"Whenever you're ready to get out," he said, looking anywhere but her.

"I meant until I get my life back," she said, softly.

"There is another month of treatment followed by another month of observation. You'll need time to gain some weight and get your strength back – physically and magically," he said. "So, some time left still." He loosened his top frock coat and removed it – the steamy room was moist and warm. He was only in his white shirt, black vest, and black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to the forearms. Not enough to see the dark mark, though.

"When can I see my friends again?"

"When you are better," he snapped. "I'm sure you've not noticed that we're quarantined down here. No one in or out."

"Why?" she asked, sitting up. He could see the loose red straps of the bathing suit on her narrow shoulders.

"Infection. You have practically no immune system right now," he said. "A cold could kill you."

"I should like to write them, then. My parents, too," she said. He looked away again.

"I have been keeping your parents updated on your condition but I will gladly pass that task to you if you are able, now." She couldn't imagine what he'd said to her parents.

"Have they written back?" she asked, eager for outside contact, eager for the love of her family.

"Yes," he said. "Are you ready?" She nodded and he removed his vest so only his cotton shirt would get wet. Cotton was easier to charm dry than wool. He scooped her out easily and carried her to the bed.

"I'm mortified by this entire situation, I think you should know," she said, as he charmed her dry and handed her a robe.

"We both knew what would happen," he said. "No need to dwell on the details when the big picture is what is important. Rest for a while." So she did.

When he came in at dinnertime, he didn't have dinner on the usual wooden tray. He helped her into a wheelchair that he had following him. A wizarding wheel chair bewitched to move without having to manually spin it. He settled her in it and she followed him through a maze of doorways into what seemed to be his private sitting room. He situated her near the fire and handed her a stack of letters – her parent's letters. They were very polite. They spoke of her, mostly. Questions about the treatment, her weight, whether she was coherent. She wished she could read his responses. She was already drafting a long response in her head – her eyes glazed over slightly and her lips moved silently as she mouthed the salutations she would soon put to paper.

"I'll get you some parchment and ink," he said after she had eaten something. He rose from the remnants of his meal and started to dig through a desk across the room. The fire was warm in a comforting sort of way. She could feel her now short, ragged hair start to curl up as it dried.

"I didn't really think this hair thing through," she said, reaching up and feeling how some areas were longer.

"I'll clean it up while you write," he offered.

"I don't expect you to be my nursemaid," she said, surprised at the willingness he was showing for doing things for her. He sneered at her and disappeared to retrieve the scissors. She wrote the letter quickly though her hand was not as steady as it once had been. Her script slanted and was uneven on the page. The simple task tired her out. She wondered if she would ever not be tired again. It was awkward when Snape, tall and looming, stood behind her and each snip of the scissors – the sound of metal scraping metal – made her flinch.

"Hermione, hold still," he barked. She froze, curiously.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Hold still," he repeated, as a shower of her hair fell around them. She'd heard that part, but Snape had never called her by name before. Not her first name, anyhow. She decided not to point it out lest he never do it again. She liked it, for some reason. She rolled 'Severus' around in her mind. She would never be so bold, but she thought it was a name well suited for him. Angular and austere, yes, but elegant and charming as well. He set the scissors down on the arm of the wheelchair and she felt his fingers probe her scalp. He came around the front of her and peered at her, checking everything was even. She stared at his face back. "Well," he said, standing. "A brave look but not as dire as I first suspected." This was high praise from him and she smiled.

"You could stand a trim yourself," she said. He looked at her from under arched brows.

"Perhaps when you are stronger you will return the favor," he said. She blushed – it stood out brightly against the unhealthy pallor of her skin – and finished up the letter. In lieu of more conversation and the almost assured distain that would arise if she interrupted his reading, she wrote to Harry and Ron as well. When the three letters were folded neatly on her lap, she looked over to him.

"I'm quite tired," she said, and he looked up – noticed the circles beneath her eyes and her sagging posture.

"You should have said something earlier," he said, moving to put her to bed.

"It was nice to be up and about," she said. He led the chair back to her small, dingy room and he helped her into bed. She took her potions (no green one tonight, despite the way all her muscles felt like they would spend the night cramping) and he sat on the edge of the opposite bed and watched her until she fell asleep. Only then did he rise and quietly leave. He left the door cracked so a stream of light came in. He didn't want her to be frightened if she woke in the night.

oooo

She had trouble standing by herself for more than a minute. The muscles in her legs wanted to atrophy. She would often wake up out of a haze to Snape rubbing healing salves into her thighs all the way down to her feet and working the muscles while she slept or was too feverish to react. It was an interesting sensation, his long fingers massaging the white butter-like cream into her skin. It smelled like vanilla though she suspected that it probably smelled awful unless he added some scent to cover it.

Snape wouldn't speak during these times, even if Hermione did wake up. He would glance up at her every few moments to make sure he wasn't hurting her and that she was okay. When her eyes were open – though glassy and unfocused – he would look away quickly and work more quickly. After he left, her skin would tingle for hours and the muscles would twitch and she would feel a bit stronger, after a while.

One day, he came into her room while she should have been resting. They both knew she was awake, still reading one of the potions texts that he'd lent her. He even knocked on the door instead of just barging in.

"Are you religious, Miss Granger?" he asked, looking straight at her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, setting the heavy book aside.

"Do you believe in God? Do you pray?"

"Where I come from that is considered a very personal question, professor," she said quietly. She didn't want to sound like she was chastising him, but she wanted to understand that he was asking something she could refuse to answer and it wouldn't be rude or insubordinate.

"I apologize, then," he said, and turned to go.

"I grew up in the church of England," she said, her voice calling him back to the room. "My father went occasionally, my mother every Sunday. I went with her until I was old enough to make my own decisions. After I got my Hogwarts letter… well, it seems to me that religion doesn't exactly fit into wizarding culture." He stood in the doorway still and she pointed to the other bed. He came in and sat gingerly on the small bed, folding his long, narrow form to fit in the small space between the mattresses.

"Wizards merely worship… different things," he said, unsure how to explain it.

"But… yes, I pray." she said.

"I would like to show you something, if you're up to it." He picked up her robe and held it out to her. She carefully got out of bed and put on the robe and her slippers. He let her hold on to his elbow for stability.

"I thought we weren't to leave the dungeons?" she said, as he led her into a maze of hallways.

"We aren't," he said. They were going away from the small percentage of the dungeons that was ever occupied by students. They were going further down then she'd ever been. Wall sconces came alive with flame as they walked by and she wasn't sure if it was Snape doing it or the castle. Either way, she was happy it wasn't dark to go along with the cold.

Finally they approached a wall and he reached for his wand and tapped a few stones. They began to move apart and a wooden door appeared, a crude cross carved into it.

"What is this?" she asked.

"It's Hogwarts' chapel," he said. He pushed open the door and inside was a simple altar with a few religious pictures – the virgin Mary, Jesus, what looked to be the last supper – and some candles. A few were lit. "The candles are charmed," he said as if to assure her that he didn't come here. She wondered if he did, though. If he prayed for her? "There aren't many places you can go, but I thought you might appreciate this one."

"Thank you," she said. She didn't bother to remind him that she couldn't get back here without a wand. Without another word, he left her. She moved closer to the altar and saw a box of wooden matches next to the candles. They looked new and vaguely Muggle. He'd probably brought them for her, knowing she wouldn't be able to magically light anything.

She only wanted to light one candle – she'd stopped going to church a long time ago. She thought about Harry and realized she didn't know if he was safe or off fighting another impossible fight. She thought about her parents, sick with worry. She thought about herself. Finally, she struck a match and touched the flame to the waxy, white wick of the tea light candle. It sprung to life.

"For Snape," she said, and shuffled slowly back to her bed.


	4. Chapter 4

They reached the halfway point in her treatment. She calculated that it must be close to the first day of spring. She wished for windows. She wished that she could feel real sunlight on her skin and breathe air that wasn't damp and chilled in her lungs. She had broken her arm in three places when she'd been getting out of the tub. Snape had given her a fair amount of freedom because the marrow had started to grow back and it was at such a consistent rate that he was pleased with her progress. She wandered the halls alone, exploring every inch of the space that was quarantined with them. She dressed herself, fed herself, and washed herself. She didn't fall because she was sick; she just slipped on a puddle and fell on her arm, trying to break her fall. She'd fallen like that before (coordination was not one of Hermione's many virtues) but the bone had never snapped so easily like it did. The bone pierced the skin and her arm was left dangling at a horribly awkward angle.

She screamed and screamed until he came running, half asleep in only a pair of silken, black pajama pants. It was early, she was an early person but apparently he'd been asleep still. It was amazing he'd heard her at all, as far away as his bed chambers were. She had curled up on the floor, dripping and naked holding her arm close to her body.

"What happened?" he asked, grabbing her pink towel from the rack and draping in over her shoulders and pulling her up to her feet. "Let me see."

"I slipped," she said, tears streaming down her face. He pried her arm away from her and she held the towel with her other hands, though it failed to really cover anything.

"I need to get my wand," he said and left the room, nearly sprinting. She stared at her arm in horror, feeling herself go into shock. She was still standing there when he returned with his wand. He cast a spell that caused the towel to wrap around her and stay there. She was grateful for that though the shock of her being naked in front of her potions professor was losing its novelty. He cast another spell and her arm was splinted and wrapped in gauze.

"What?" she asked, sniffling, staring at her arm. The bone was once again straight and the skin smooth, if bruised, but it was by no means healed.

"It's the best I can do right now. You have so much Skele-Grow in your system that no bone mending potion is going to do anything. It's just going to have to heal naturally," he said. She nodded but didn't stop crying. "Hermione, I've hardly ever seen you cry."

"I'm sorry. I just feel a little shocked and a bit stupid. My bone broke like I was snapping a pencil," she said. "I hate to cry in front of you, especially you."

"Me?" he asked.

"You're so… Snape. I mean, you haven't yelled at me since all this happened and I don't seem to disgust you the same way I did in potions class but you're still the smartest person I've ever met. You're good at everything you do and now you've saved my life. I don't want you to think after all that I'm undeserving and weak," she said, looking at her arm instead of him. She moved it away from her body experimentally and felt immediately light-headed with pain.

"You don't have to hide your emotions from me," he said, but in a very unemotional tone. It was so ironic and hypocritical that she had to laugh.

"And you from I, professor." He said nothing, but pointed her out of the bathroom. She knew what that meant. He was ordering her to rest.

oooo

She lay in bed and thought about things, her arm on a few pillows next to her to keep it elevated it. He'd given her the equivalent of two aspirin and it did little for the throbbing pain. She tried not to linger on the mental image of him rushing into the bathroom in such a disheveled state of undress. The way the black pants hung so low on his narrow hips. He was skinny and pale and though she hadn't registered it at the time, looking back now, she could see the dark mark on his arm as clear as day. She wondered about that.

"You aren't resting." His voice startled her from her reverie and she saw him in the doorway, fully dressed now.

"I'm thinking," she said.

"About what?"

"How you've not been called away since this all started," she said. He stiffened a bit. "I saw it on your arm this morning."

"You aren't to be concerned with that," he said and turned away.

"Wait!" she called.

"Miss Granger, there are some things that are my business and my business alone," he said.

"Back to Miss Granger, again," she said, mostly to herself.

"You have always been Miss Granger," he said, and rubbed the line between his eyes – an expression of his tiredness and frustration.

"Except when you call me Hermione, which I like," she said. He said nothing; picked fuzz off his sleeve that she suspected wasn't there. "Why don't you ever talk about what's happening outside of here? You must give daily reports to the Headmaster. Why don't I ever see a daily prophet lying around?" she asked, feeling a little suspicious.

"You haven't ever asked to see the paper," he said, "And except for one letter from your friends, Misters Potter and Weasley, you've not been in contact with the outside world either." She didn't bother to include her correspondence with her parents as they knew nothing of the wizarding world either.

"Well, I'm asking now," she said.

"Good. It is a sign of progress," he said. She waited for him to start offering up information but it was, after all, Snape. "We're almost through, Miss Granger."

"Hermione," she corrected.

"Hermione," he relented.

"Promise me?" she asked.

"I promise," he said, but this time he knew what he was promising. He left, clicking the door shut firmly behind him and though she was tired of resting, she spent an hour with her eyes closed.

Later, deep into the night, Hermione was restless and a little hungry. She realized, with a start, that she felt better. In fact, she didn't feel sick at all apart from the throbbing arm. She went into the washroom and looked at her reflection. Her skin was pink and the circles beneath her eyes were gone. She wished she could go outside and put her toes in the lake – giant squid be damned (though so many legs, nay, tentacles frightened her) – and breathe in the moonlight until her lungs were full and she would run in the grass and never complain about hard dormitory beds or Ron copying her notes or Harry running of to his most certain death because that was life and she knew that now.

She brushed her teeth (dentists) and washed her good hand and ran her damp fingers through her hair. She'd broken her right hand, her quill and wand hand, but she would manage. She left the bathroom and looked at the rumpled bed and just couldn't get back in. The pillow seemed lumpy and the sheets were always hot and scratchy against her skin. Instead she removed her night gown and put on a fresh one. One her mother had sent her for her 16th birthday in the beginning of the school year. It was long – floor length – and satin. It was black and had a robe that went over it. She was tired of feeling frumpy. It was feminine and sexy, something for a woman. It wasn't inappropriate, however. With the robe it just seemed classic and expensive. She was certain her mother had sent it without her father knowing about it. She tied the sash tight so very little skin showed.

She left her room and wandered down the hall. She wished she'd put something on her feet. The stone was freezing and felt almost mossy or slimy. Was Snape the only person who ever came down here? Were his feet the only ones prior to hers? Before she knew it she stood outside the door that lead to Snape's sitting room. It was where she had first read the letters. The door was not, as she expected it would be, closed and warded. It was ajar, about four inches, and she could see the fire burning inside. She could see his empty wingback chair and his abandoned desk, scattered with papers. His notes on her progress, most likely. She pushed open the door and entered inside. A voice in her head warned her against coming into his personal quarters uninvited but this Snape, this new Snape who almost cared for her, would never lash out in such a way as the old one. He would not take points (a concept she had all but nearly forgotten) and he would not assign her a detention. He might snap at her, order her back to her room, but he would never physically harm her. She was pretty sure about that, at least.

She stood in front of the fire for a few moments, warming herself. She couldn't see him in the room. She'd never been further into his chambers than this room. But she could see down the dark hallway where his bedroom was. That door was ajar as well and she held her breath to listen. She couldn't hear him moving or snoring. He may not even be in there at all. Slowly, if drawn by some higher power, she walked to the door and pushed it open. She saw him in his big bed. He was on his stomach, his long hair marring his features. He was again in his black pants and nothing else. She could see the expanse of his back more clearly. It was muscular but heavily scarred. She wanted to run her fingers over his skin, to see if it felt as callous as it looked. She walked forward before she stopped.

What was she thinking? She couldn't touch Snape! And yet, she was already at the edge of the bed and she could see the fingers of her left, uninjured hand reaching toward him and lightly brushing the jut of his shoulder blades. He stirred a little. She sat on the edge of the bed and moved her hand up to his hair. It was greasy but then, when did he have much time to himself with taking such exquisite care of her? She pushed the hair back so she could see his eyes and jumped when she saw they were open.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I – I was just… I couldn't sleep," she said, withdrawing her hand quickly. He sat up and watched her.

"No one has ever been in here before," he said.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, and started to walk away at a normal pace, forcing herself not to run.

"Where does a girl like Hermione Granger get a robe like that?" he asked, in a nearly conversational tone. She turned around and fingered the silver embroidery on the hem.

"What kind of girl am I?" she asked.

"Practical. Too practical for enticing fabrics," he said. He ran a hand through his hair, and she saw the mark on his arm again. It didn't frighten her like she though it would.

"Even practical girls like soft things," she said. "It was a sweet sixteen present."

"You're so young," he said, looking away for a moment. "I know it's difficult being down here with me. It's lonely for someone not used to such segregation."

"I thought it would be harder, actually. I thought taking your help would be like pulling teeth or some acute form of torture at least," she said. "But actually, it's much better than the hospital."

He patted the bed next to him and she resumed her perch.

"Hermione, you only have a few weeks left here," he said.

"Then what? I'm released back into school just in time for the exams I've not studied for? I'm going to have to repeat this year," she said.

"Nonsense. The summer months will offer you more than enough time to catch up," he said. "Besides, the fact that you made it through that treatment is a miracle."

"You cured cancer," she said, suddenly in awe.

"No, Hermione, I mean it is a miracle. I had strong doubts you would survive. Most people wouldn't have made it past the first week. You have strength I've never seen," he said. She smiled a little.

"When can I have my wand back?" she asked.

"Soon," he promised. "Hermione…"

"I'll go," she said.

"You don't have to. I could transfigure you a bed in here. Or, out in the living room. Your room was really meant for the start of the treatment. It's sparse," he said.

"I couldn't," she said. "But thank you." He started to argue but bit his lip instead and nodded. He walked her back to her room and made sure she was tucked into bed. He extinguished the lights and went back to his rooms. She fell asleep soon after and woke at dawn. She pushed back the covers to go the bathroom and was startled by the sound of a quiet snore. He had come back in the night to sleep in the other twin bed. It made her smile. She wondered what was happening.


	5. Chapter 5

Her wand felt foreign in her hand. It was rosewood, a rare wood for wands, and a light greenish color. She had taken to the first wand put in her hand by Mr. Ollivander. That was rare too. Inside was dragon's blood. Wands with fluid centers always seemed to be more powerful and less stable. It had never felt unstable to her but then, she'd always been very good at everything and in that way, powerful. Now, with the once familiar object in her hand, she felt frightened. She was scared of her own wand. It could hurt her just as easily as it hurt others.

"Ready?" Snape asked, snapping her out of her consuming thoughts.

"Last time I tried to do magic, it hurt," she said.

"It shouldn't cause pain, now. It will probably be much harder to achieve the same results as you're used to," he admitted. "Why don't we start with simple spells to see how your stamina is?"

She nodded and waited for further instruction. It made her feel less nervous to be following his orders. Doing what a professor told her to do was an old, comfortable hat for Hermione Granger.

"Okay," she agreed and gripped her wand more firmly, pushing her insecurities behind her.

"Lights out," he commanded. She raised her eyebrow, but complied.

"Nox," she said, loudly. The lights flickered, dimmed, and then went completely out. Normally, they would have extinguished immediately. "Oh," she whispered. She didn't feel sick or nauseous but there was a definite resistance that she had never really encountered before. She felt like she was pushing through water. Snape waved his wand and the lights came back on.

"Good," he said. "Try a levitation spell." She pointed her wand toward a stack of papers on the coffee table nearby.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The papers fluttered as if a window was open somewhere and the breeze was sneaking in. She furrowed her brow and tried again. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The papers lifted but scattered to the floor. She sat down on the sofa, defeated. "I'm like Ron, or something." He chuckled lightly.

"I wouldn't say that. The papers moved, didn't they?" She felt guilty that he had made her smile at Ron's expense but she didn't bite the smile back. His face softened in the most subtle way when she smiled at him. "Think of doing simple spells as physical therapy for your magic. You start with the basics – build up your power slowly. It won't be too long before you're up to your usual standards," he promised.

"I understand. What would happen if I tired to – say – do a patronus charm right now?" she asked. He raised his eyebrow.

"Can you do a patronus?" he asked.

"Yes," she said shyly. "It's an otter." He blinked.

"Well, probably nothing. It wouldn't hurt you, you probably just couldn't do it," he said. "Go ahead and try if your curiosity is that insatiable."

"I asked one question, professor," she said. "There are worse things than being a know-it-all." She meant to snap at him but she just sound tired. He bowed his head a little. "Sit down; I'll trim your hair. I feel well enough, now." She found he responded to her better when she was no nonsense. If she had asked him nicely, he would have made some sort of cocky expression with excessive use of his eyebrows and insulted her but now he just moved to the wooden chair by the fire and loosened the highest buttons on his collars.

"The scissors are in the desk," he said. Most wizards and witches used wands to cut their hair but Hermione, being muggle-born, found that she preferred to do it the manual way. Snape usually agreed that doing things the non-magic way was more precise. Especially in the art and science of potions – magic could get in the way or taint things. Rather then run the risk, you chopped everything by hand. Even hair.

She retrieved her comb from her bathroom, leaving him sitting still as a statue for a minute. She knew he probably had a comb in his bathroom but she wasn't about to walk in there to rummage through his hygiene related items uninvited. Hers was plastic and pink. It had wide, thick teeth for her coarse, curly hair. His hair was fine and straight but the comb would do. It was an intimate act, brushing someone else's hair. She carefully brushed his hair root to tip until the comb didn't snag anymore. He remained motionless. She could hear him breathing. She was starting to recognize him as a man first, and then her professor. He was so familiar to her now. The slope and arch of his nose, the broad shoulders and narrow hips. His large feet and hands. His sharp elbows.

She picked up her wand and held it stead. She said firmly the spell that would cause the end of her wand to spray a light mist of water. It worked for just long enough before she gave it up. She brushed the water into his hair until it was damp all the way through.

"How short?" she asked. "Do you want me to make it short? Like, you know, Professor Lupin short?" she asked.

"Heavens no," he said. "I never want my anything to be like Lupin."

"He's a good man," she said.

"Sometimes," he shot back. "Sometimes he's no man at all."

"Do you really hate him because he is a werewolf?" she asked. She would be disgusted if that were the case.

"Of course not," he said.

"Then why?"

"I… sometimes I don't even remember anymore," he sighed. "It was a long time ago."

"Take off your shirt," she said, shaking her head. "I can't cut it with that ridiculous collar." He looked like he was about to say something but rolled his eyes instead and set about the tedious task of undoing an endless row of buttons. She snipped until it fell about his jaw line. The ends were even and his hair gained an almost healthy looking shine. She brushed the hair clippings off his bare shoulder with the pads of her fingers. His eyes closed and she liked the way his eyelashes rested on the swell of his aristocratic cheek bones.

"You can go in a week," he said, opening his eyes, catching her staring at him, her fingers still burning on his skin, right at the place that his neck turned into his collarbone.

"Two, by my count," she said, but the voice that came out was an octave too low. It didn't sound like her own.

"Unnecessary," he said. "The treatment was a success. You're healed. The disease is gone from your body and your immune system is practically up to par." She smoothed a stray lock of hair away from his eye.

"Thanks to you," she said. The corner of his mouth lifted. It was his version of a smile.

oooo

It was night again and she was sitting in her room, practicing spells. It was getting easier. He had sent for her fourth year charms text book – an intermediate starting point – but she still had the entire thing memorized. The text was open in front of her but she didn't refer to it. She started with her first year and was well into her fifth. She could lift books, pillows, chairs. She couldn't lift her trunk without breaking a sweat, so she didn't try.

She'd moved onto transfiguration by the time she was too tired to change her pillows back from a pile of bricks. She looked at her bed, frowning. The bed Snape had used in the beginning had been stripped by the elves for washing. She was in sweats and a tank top – clothes that hadn't fit before. She was a little disheveled and not quite elegant. Her arm had been taken out of the splint and was in a less permanent wrap that had a stasis charm on it so that she had much more mobility than she would have had with a Muggle cast. It wasn't as bulky, either.

She was barefoot when she marched into his chambers. He was on the couch, reclining, reading what looked to be a novel of some sort. She didn't peg him as a fiction reader, but then again, she imagined he read anything he could get his hands on, just like her.

"I turned my pillows into bricks and now I can't get them back," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. He didn't lower his book, just pointed in the direction of his bedroom. She didn't question, and marched down the hallway. She crawled into his bed – he had nice sheets – and she picked the pillow that smelled like him. He slept on the left side of the bed, closest to the door. She liked the idea that her body was where his body liked to be. She pulled the comforter to her chin and slept a dreamless sleep.

He was in the bed in the morning. Where else would he be? It was his bed. He was fully clothed and on top of the bed linens. He was right at the edge of the bed, as far from her as possible. She was tired – bleary eyed. Had she been more awake she would have crawled out of bed and fled the scene but for some reason, she found the sight of him awkwardly laying there endearing and so she crawled out of her warm cocoon and slid over until her body was pressed to his. She put her head with its short hair on his chest and closed her eyes again. She'd thought he was sleeping but it wasn't long before his arm wrapped around her and she felt his body relax and him fall asleep for real.


	6. Chapter 6

She was packing everything very carefully. She put the books down first – there weren't many. Then, she folded each shirt just as her mother taught her and smoothed away any wrinkles. She was slow, methodical, and robotic. She zipped the duffel bag. She put it on her shoulder.

There were five weeks of school left and she was reemerging into the castle. Snape had been withdrawn and moody since that night and morning spent together. They'd stayed in bed pretending to sleep for half the day before she had crept away to find breakfast waiting. He'd come out soon after and they'd eaten their scones and sipped their tea in silence. He was afraid to look at her.

"It's okay," she said finally. "We didn't do anything wrong."

"Luckily I don't need a sixteen-year-old twig of a girl to teach me about morality," he snapped and left his chambers – probably for his private lab where she could not go. She tried not to take it personally. She knew he was just pushing her away, preparing them both for the time when they would not be together. When they would go back to the strict and unforgiving student-teacher relationship that he shared with so many others. She would not be special.

She was finished packing. Harry sent a letter down, telling her they were throwing a celebration that she was returning. His letter sounded tentative though. Would nothing be the same? Was three months really long enough to change everything forever? She walked out toward the exit of the dungeons. When the quarantine was still in place, she would feel the tingle of magic as she approached the boarders of the dungeon area to which she was confined. If she got too close, the tingle turned to a burn. Today, she just felt normal. She could go. She was better and the horror was behind her.

Snape wasn't there to bid her goodbye. She left her bag at the stairs and went to find him. He was in his office, the room was that connected to his classroom. He was sitting at his desk, doing nothing.

"Goodbye, then," she said, trying not to feel hurt.

"You are still my student, I hardly think that I am rid of you completely," he said. This was professor Snape, not the man who cared for her, talking.

"Thank you, anyhow. There is no way to repay what you've given me," she said, honestly. "Under the circumstances, I did enjoy my time here, with you."

"How very likely," he muttered. She walked closer to him, until she was right by her chair. She leaned down slowly, giving him ample time to stop her. She was going to kiss him, kiss his thin lips softly, but she chickened out and kissed his cheek. She walked out, before he could do anything and walked out of the dungeons wiping away tears furiously. She would not see her friends after all this time crying.

oooo

The castle was almost too deserted. It was Saturday, though, and maybe her return had followed on a Hogsmeade weekend. Still, she saw no first or second years either. She saw no professors, no ghosts, no anything. She made her way towards the great hall. The light from the windows hurt her eyes, made her squint. She'd been below ground for so long. She was used to Snape being pale, but now she had that same unnatural whiteness about her skin as well. Too pale.

She opened the doors to the great hall slowly; had she ever seen them closed?

"SURPRISE!" Practically the entire school was there, waiting, with a big banner that said, 'Welcome back, Hermione!' She smiled, and dropped her bag, running into the arms of Harry and Ron who were waiting at the front of the crowd. When Harry had mentioned a celebration, she had thought that he meant after curfew in the Gryffindor common room. Ron held on long after Harry had taken a step back to get a good look at her. Most people had already stopped looking at her and had started eating. It was the true reason they were there, after all. Weekends at Hogwarts consisted of brunch and dinner and so any extra meal drew a sizable crowd.

Dumbledore laid a knowing hand on her head and moved slowly up to the head table. Even professor McGonagall gave her a brief hug once Ron unglued himself, though she quickly let go and slipped back into her stern exterior, glaring at some third year Hufflepuffs who were on the brink of starting a food fight.

Looking around, Hermione tried to take it all in. Most of her professors were there but there was not a Slytherin in sight. She wondered if they were in their common room, welcoming back their head of house. After all, he had been gone too… but she could already hear the complaints of students through mouthfuls of food – grumbling about how Snape would be back in potions class on Monday. How they had hoped he wouldn't be back in time to proctor exams. Harry was leading her to the end of the Gryffindor table and Ginny was putting chicken legs and heaps of potato salad on her plate. They were all talking a mile a minute and she felt – suddenly – totally on display. So many pairs of eyes on her, so loud after such a long time in solitude. She felt anxiety rise in her throat. She felt her shoulders tense. The bite of chicken in her mouth turned to sawdust. She struggled to swallow. She picked up her goblet of pumpkin juice and noticed her hands were sweaty and shaking. She wished Snape was there, at least across the room or something. Just being able to see him would give her some sort of stability in this abrupt transition.

"Well?" Harry asked, looking at her expectantly, then worriedly.

"What?" She asked. She'd not been listening in the slightest. "Sorry."

"I asked if you wanted to come to Quidditch game. It's Ravenclaw versus Slytherin," he said. She didn't want that, but she thought he might go, since it was Slytherin. They had been apart barely an hour and she already found she didn't know what to do with her hands with out him there to instruct her in that gentle voice.

"All right," she said. Ron carried her bag back to her guest room, where all the rest of her belongings still were. On the table was a big bouquet of wildflowers, with a crudely written note from Hagrid. She smiled at them. She opened her trunk and found her Gryffindor robe. It would keep her warm in case there was a breeze so high atop the pitch.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded and they walked down to the front doors. At the doors she paused, right on the brink, upsetting the flow of people behind her.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, loudly, pulling her along and out of the way of the crowd. She looked down at the grass beneath her sensible shoes and the expanse of blue sky above her head. No one had said a thing about her boyish, cropped hair cut but she could see the surprise in everyone's eyes.

"I just haven't been outside in so long," she whispered, feeling overwhelmed and infinitely tiny.

"It's a beautiful day," Ron said, obliviously. "Look, there's Harry!" She felt his hand on her arm, pulling her back into the crowd of students. The pitch came into view and she could already see players shooting up into the sky on the brooms, circling the pitch, getting ready to play. She felt like a stranger here. She sat sandwiched between Ron and Harry and most of her year in one of the Gryffindor stands. She could see the brilliance of the sun against Ginny's hair the next stand over. Across from her directly was the staff stand. She couldn't see anyone very clearly. She could tell Dumbledore with his white beard and McGonagall always sat next to him, and there was a new announcer now that Lee Jordon had graduated. It was an exuberant Hufflepuff girl and she was loud, if not good.

Dean Thomas clutched a pair of binoculars and she asked politely to borrow them. There was nothing to see yet, as the game had just started and everyone was still getting the feel of the day, but he dutifully handed them over. She lifted them to her eyes and adjusted the focus a little. She'd been right about Dumbledore and McGonagall. Professor Sprout was there too, as well as Professor Vector. She'd determined him to be absent from the stands and was just about to lower the binoculars when she saw him emerge from the staircase and situate himself in the upper left hand corner of the stands, watching dutifully his team.

She felt like she'd tried to swallow a rock, staring at him. She knew that whatever they had shared was over and she needed to move on but the memory of her lips against his slightly stubbly cheek and the way he'd leaned into it was fresh in her mind. She could look at him for just a little longer, if she wanted. But then Dean was asking for them back and when she looked up again, he was just a charcoal dot against the blue of the sky.

oooo

She couldn't sleep, tired as she was. She'd gone to Madame Pomfrey who'd fixed her arm for good and it felt a little fragile without Snape's splint. She wanted to sleep. In the morning, she had a meeting with McGonagall to organize her schedule for the remaining month of school. She would try to make up as much work as she could. Then what? Hogwarts always closed for summer but Harry had already told her that Dumbledore insisted he stay within the grounds for the summer.

"I thought you had to go stay with the Dursley's every year, no matter what?" she had asked.

"Dumbledore doesn't want anything to happen to me," Harry said. He didn't think to question it, he was just happy to not have to go back to Surrey and to his horrible family. But Hermione knew this to be a sign of danger, closer than she would have thought. She would probably be staying as well. She turned the pillow over to the cool side and contemplated going down to the dungeons and crawling back into bed with him. If anything she could claim sleep walking. She had her slippers on and was half way down the first flight of stairs before she realized what a bad plan that was. She turned to go back up and find her portrait when she saw the light of a wand bobbing towards her. She knew then that it wasn't Filch and so she relaxed a little. She squared her shoulders, waiting for the person to come close enough so that they could recognize one another. She figured it was some professor on rounds – it wasn't yet that late. In fact it was prime hour for students sneaking out, and most students were especially happy because Slytherin had lost.

"Hermione." She'd not expected that it would have been him. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I… couldn't sleep," she said. It was barely a whisper. He dimmed the light of his wand to a soft glow. He stepped closer to her so he could hear her better.

"You shouldn't be wandering at this hour," he chided gently.

"Everything is different, suddenly," she admitted. "Everything smells different and everyone is so loud."

"You'll be fine," he promised her. She could see that he hadn't yet shaved. His eyes were dark, and his breath sweet. Like dessert or fine alcohol. She longed to kiss him properly this time, not to chicken out. She tilted her head a little, unconsciously. He cleared his throat and stepped back. She searched for conversation.

"I'm sorry Slytherin lost, I saw you watching," she said, and then realized that the sounded strange. She didn't want him to think she was stalking him, or anything.

"I saw you too, but somehow I don't think you're sorry my house lost," he said, almost laughing.

"I used to care but I hardly feel a part of any house now. I guess I'm indifferent," she said.

"I'll walk you to your rooms," he said, putting his long fingers on the small of her back and applying some pressure to get her moving.

"Thank you," she said quietly. It wasn't far and they were there faster than she would have liked. She was nervous and didn't know what to say.

"I know you'll have your own make-up schedule until the end of the year, but you can always come down to the dungeons if you need to. I wouldn't mind a competent aide every now and then," he said, handing her the sentence like an olive branch. He was apologizing for being so cold earlier. She realized he didn't know how to deal with the separation either. They stepped through the threshold and the portrait swung closed behind them, a loud click startling them both. They were alone.

"I would like that," she said. She fished her wand from her pockets and pointed it at the fireplace, lighting it. He put out his wand. "I was going to the dungeons," she blurted out and then immediately regretted it. Why did she always have to tell the truth around him?

"I know," he said. They were close again. He was leaning over her, bending like the whomping willow to be able to reach her. "Hermione," he began, bringing his hand up to her shoulder. His fingers had a mind of their own, though, and were creeping up her neck and scratching at her hairline. She felt dizzy.

"Yes, professor?" she asked, in a high voice that wasn't her own. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Go to sleep now," he said, straightening up. "A good rest will do you wonders." She watched him push the portrait open and relight his wand. She stood in the door frame, watching him stalk away, his shoulder hunched. She felt like crying, but swallowed it down. Knowing the sleep was now impossible, she lit all the candles she could find and set the sconces ablaze. She let the light warm and wash over her. She sat at the desk and decided to start a letter to her parents, informing them that she was better, cured, and out of quarantine with Snape. Everything would soon be back to normal. She didn't finish the letter, though; she wanted to see what McGonagall had to say first.

She decided to run a bath. She'd been taking quick showers since the fall. Partly because bath tubs reminded her of that uncomfortable incident and partly because she wasn't supposed to get her arm dressings wet. Those were gone now, though, and so she filled the tub to the brim with hot water and sweet pea oil to make her skin soft. Her cheeks were a little red from sitting in the sun at the Quidditch game, and she looked like she was always blushing. At least that had probably hidden the fact that around Snape she was always blushing. Her body nearly sighed with relief sinking into the water. Her skin turned bright red immediately. She could see the sweet pea oil floating hazily on the surface and she ran her fingers through it. She could see the steam against the candle light and it calmed her down. Her heart stopped thumping, her blood stopped racing around her veins. She could feel herself becoming rational again in Snape's absence.

She knew what she had to do. She had to stay away from him. The man was twice her age, and he was a professor. What exactly did she think could happen? She dunked her head, closing her eyes tight so she didn't have to think about anything. Still, in the dark behind her eyelids, she could see his face.

oooo

McGonagall had given her a very full schedule for the remaining days of school. She had several binders of missed assignments and each of her professors would spend an hour a week with her after classes had ended, helping her catch up. She would stay for the summer – another awkward ending to the letter to her now firmly bitter parents – and in late August, she would take the exams her classmates were all furiously studying for now. McGonagall had hinted that if she just wanted to take the exams now, she would probably pass if not with the highest marks. It was tempting, but Hermione had standards for herself and she knew that a crash course summer would be just what she needed to take her mind off things.

She walked back to her rooms feeling good about things. Harry would be staying for the summer, too, and they would have the run of the castle. Ron and Ginny had both been ordered home by their mother but he promised he would visit. Besides, Hermione imagined that order members would be in and out of the castle all the time. It would be much like summer at 12 Grimmauld Place, just a different setting. She imagined Hogwarts to be beautiful in the summer time and she looked forward to getting some sun – getting used to the outside again.

She looked at the schedule in her hands. She started that afternoon, with professor Flitwick. She saw Snape's name in the Thursday box but she refused to let her heart jump into her throat like it wanted to. She would be the picture of professionalism. She would learn potions and they would speak about nothing else.

She set about reading the material McGonagall had given her and even starting a few essays while everyone else was in class. When the last bell rang, she slipped on her school robes and made her way to the charms classroom. She was nervous she wouldn't be any good but after 20 minutes Flitwick was assuring her that everything would be fine and that she was still well ahead of her peers, even after three months of missed classes. That was a nice little boost to the ego and so Hermione was pleased when she went in to dinner and sat with her Gryffindor friends. She had promised herself she wouldn't look to the head table… that she wouldn't look for him. She didn't and she knew that it would only get easier.

Except for that Thursday came at an alarming rate. Breakfast and lunch whizzed by at breakneck speeds. The hours that she spent at a table in the library – her quill scratching studiously – felt like minutes and when the final bell rang, it seemed to mock her. Each squeak of her shoe seemed to eek out his name and her destination alternately. Of course, she didn't go to 'their' wing of the dungeons. That was much further in. His classroom was right there, and she knocked lightly.

"Enter," was his gruff response. She shifted the bag on her shoulder so she could use her weight to open the heavy door. She saw Neville at the sinks with a huge row of dirty cauldrons waiting to be washed and she sent him a sympathetic look. He probably didn't even do anything wrong and was nothing but an excuse for Snape not to have to be alone in the room with Hermione. Had she thought of it, she might have rigged up something of the same, dragging Ginny along or something – but as it were he had taken care of it. Neville gave a half-hearted wave but didn't risk more and as he did, he flung gray suds onto the front of his robes.

"You're late," he snapped. She rolled her eyes, she wasn't late but she decided to play along.

"Sorry, professor," she said. "Shall we get started?" She would be cordial but she wouldn't be intimidated by him. She sat at the student work bench closest to his desk and pulled out her binder amiably. She ignored the frantic feeling of her heart throwing its self against her rib cage in a very unstable fashion.

"We will not brew in these sessions," he said. "If you learn the theories and steps well enough, you shouldn't have to practice brewing. It should work on your first try," he said. For someone like Neville, it was immediate failure, not practicing brewing a potion before an exam but for Hermione, theory was usually enough. He wanted her to protest.

"That seems fair," she said, neutrally. He snarled.

"Furthermore, I expect an essay every session, until you are caught up with the rest of the class," he said. She reached into her bag and took out three neatly rolled pieces of parchment.

"Here are the first three," she said. He took them, crinkling them in his fist and dropping them on his desk. She couldn't see his eyes very well, for he was hunched over and his hair hung in his face. It was greasy again – she'd long ago suspected that had more to do with leaning over cauldrons all day and less to do with personal hygiene – though it looked better evenly trimmed.

"I will also assign you your own research worksheets as homework and review," he said, thrusting a sheet of paper at her. His writing was small and spiky and she tried to read what the worksheet said but instead the words seemed to spell out, "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I have news on your daughter's condition" which was how each of his letters began to her parents. She quickly placed the worksheet in her binder.

"I understand," she said. He nodded, and waved his wand. The blackboard filled with writing and she quickly started to take notes. When the dinner bell sounded, he barked at Neville to leave and Neville wasted no time in grabbing his school things and leaving. "He practically left a trail of fire behind him," she said, laughing.

"You may go too, Miss Granger," he said. He straightened his posture.

"It's been very interesting," she said, motioning towards the blackboard. "I'll look forward to Thursdays now."

"I will, as well," he said, softly. His face looked stricken, like he had admitted something that he shouldn't have.

"Are you coming to dinner?" she asked, gathering her school things and hefting the worn leather bag onto her left shoulder.

"Not tonight," he said, and left her alone in the room, closing his office door behind him. It was too swift an exit and she was suddenly worried. Snape had been at dinner every night and every night she didn't look at him on purpose. In fact she wasn't even sure the head table was still there, she avoided turning her head in that direction so well. Without the challenge, she decided to skip dinner herself and just ask Wally to bring her a sandwich later, if she felt hungry. She went back to her rooms intent on working on her transfiguration essay that was due the next day. She settled herself in the window seat with her quill and text book when something caught her eye. The sun was setting that very moment and she tried to talk herself into believing that what she was seeing was a play of the light – nothing but the war between the stars and the sun over the territory of the sky. But when she closed her eyes and opened them again, she saw Snape walking briskly toward the forbidden forest. It was the sun catching the reflection of the silver mask under his arm that had grabbed her attention.


	7. Chapter 7

When he reached the edge of the forbidden forest, he disappeared into the trees and was gone. She could even hear the crack of his disapparation but she knew that she was imagining that. Except for the occasional glimpse of his dark mark, she didn't really think about his past or his affiliation with Voldemort. He was just Severus Snape, potions master at Hogwarts. He was more than that, of course, but she struggled to see the evil in him that everyone else claimed he wore upon his sleeve.

He had survived hundreds of death eater meetings. There was no reason to think that he would not survive this one. He had just been spoiled, though, staying away for the length of her recovery. She realized that he was going to probably talk about her. What would he say? Would Voldemort be angry that she had survived or pleased that he had cured cancer? Well, he had cured her cancer. He had told her himself that she had a very unique case – that the treatment she received wouldn't have worked on just anyone. That she was strong.

She looked down at the essay in front of her. There was nothing that she could do but to do the things that she needed to and perhaps wait for his return. She buried herself in her essay. When she reached the point where she needed to go to the library to look something up, the sun had set fully and it was only an hour until the library closed and two until curfew. She decided to go for it and when Madame Pince greeted her, she even smiled which was rare for the severe librarian. She swiftly founded what she needed to put the finishing touches on the essay and she realized, upon leaving the library as the clock chimed its closing hour, that perhaps Dumbledore could give her some advice on to handle his departure. After all, Dumbledore had been waiting for Snape for years. She would just see if Dumbledore was in his office, at the very least. The gargoyle was only three floors out of her way and she wasn't doing anything wrong, walking around the castle alone. When she reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office, the gargoyle did nothing but stand stoically guarding. She reached out and touched its cool, metal breast, stroking it as if it were a real creature. She wouldn't bother the headmaster tonight, even if she had known the password to enter in the circular tower office. She started to walk away when the gargoyle moved just enough for Dumbledore to call out,

"Come in, Miss Granger!" She watched, surprised, as the staircase extended itself fully and she stepped on.

"How did you know I was out there?" she asked, stepping into the office.

"Was there something you wished to discuss?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring her question.

"I saw professor Snape leaving the grounds during dinner," she said, for she had learned early on that it was much better to tell the headmaster the truth because he already knew it anyway.

"Ahh, yes, he does that from time to time," he said. "Why don't you sit down and wait with me?" he offered and it was just exactly what she had wanted him to do. "Severus has always given me sparse reports on all of his many projects and his time with you was no exception. May I inquire into how your time was, down there?" he asked, politely.

"It was… horrible, at first," she said. "I don't really remember much. But then, when I started to get better, it was fine," she said. "I never expected being locked in a dungeon with Professor Snape to be comfortable but it was."

"How so?" he prompted.

"Well, I guess I expected him to be bitter about being locked up with a know-it-all Gryffindor but he seemed genuinely concerned about not just my progress but about me. He was very gentle and kind," she said. "He had an interesting library."

"You two remind me of one another," Dumbledore said, calling up a tea service and pouring Hermione a cup. "Oh, not in your looks or anything like that. It's little things, like the way you move your hands or the intonation when you speak. The way that your brains work. He was the smartest boy at Hogwarts when he was a student here, just as you are the cream of the crop, so to speak."

"Thank you," she said, "Any comparison to professor Snape I'll take as a compliment." They drank tea quietly. "What do you do, while you wait?" Hermione asked.

"Me? I pray, Miss Granger," he said.

oooo

She fell asleep in a squishy arm chair in the office and it was dawn when she awoke, hearing voices. She didn't open her eyes right away; she wanted to figure out where she was first. She could hear Dumbledore and remembered his office and the waiting. The other voice filled her with hope. Snape was back!

"Why is she here?" she could hear him say, but he was tired more than upset.

"She paid me the courtesy of waiting up with me," Dumbledore said, fondly. "She adores you, it seems."

Hermione blushed, trying not to cringe, still pretending that she was sleeping. Yet, she was desperate to hear his response.

"Even so," Snape said. "She should be returned to her rooms before I make my report."

"Do you not think she would like to hear what you have to say?" Dumbledore asked. This only confirmed Hermione's suspicions that he had reported to Voldemort about her.

"I'll tell her in time," he said.

"Very well, I'll be here," Dumbledore said, and she could hear the sound of air escaping the cushions of the chair he'd sat down in. She heard footsteps coming towards her and then the feeling of arms slipping beneath her. Snape was picking her up and she instinctively curled into his arms. The arms tightened and lifted. She struggled deciding whether to keep her eyes closed or show Snape that she was, at least a little, awake. She kept them closed while she felt them descending the stairs.

"You can open your eyes," he said. "I know you're awake."

"How did you know?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes a bit as she opened her eyes. He was looking down at her with an amused smirk. She wiggled a bit so he could set her down but he held tight. Well, if he wanted to be chivalrous, she wasn't going to protest.

"You make a little humming sound when you sleep. Little sighs," he said. "You're too quiet when you're faking."

"Noted," she said. "I will improve my lying next time."

"Ha, ha," he said.

"I was worried," she said, all trace of humor gone from her voice.

"Worried?"

"That you wouldn't come back," she clarified. "That you would be ordered to kill me or punished because you didn't."

"Don't be silly, Hermione. You're much too brilliant to be wasted in death," he said. "The dark lord has many plans for you but even he underestimates your wit in thinking he could ever turn you against Potter."

"You're right about that," she said.

"Here we are," he said. The portrait opened for Hermione and he stepped in and walked straight into the bedroom. "Get some real sleep."

"Stay," she asked, already burrowing into her pillow and the nest her blankets created on her unmade bed.

"Hermione… the headmaster is waiting," he said.

"Let him wait," she said. She cleared a space for him. He stared at her, looked out the window where the sun was filling the sky. It wasn't long until the students would start to rise and breakfast would start and then classes. Dumbledore would wait in his office and as soon as Snape didn't come back he would, of course, know. Snape would have to shamefully face him in the evening to make his report and receive and stern, if veiled, warning. He looked at her pretty, heart shaped face and expectant eyes. He took off his cloak, his shoes, his vest, and shirt until he was just in slacks and socks and he climbed into the bed next to her. She slid against him and buried her nose in his neck, inhaling deeply. He smelled like sweat and soil and the air just before summer. He put his arms around her and ran his hand up and down her back.

"This is the last time," he said, though something lodged itself in his throat, trying to stop the words from escaping.

"The last time," she agreed and threw her leg across his hip, pressing and sighing. Her tongue snaked out to taste the skin on his neck, to taste what she smelled. It was salty and sweet and intoxicating.

"Hermione," he gasped. The desire was too great. He pulled her over him like she was a rag doll and pressed his mouth against hers.

Hermione had been kissed once, awkwardly, by a Muggle boy when she was fourteen, and again, decently, by Ron Weasley when she was fifteen, but she had never been kissed well, let alone exquisitely. She was a virgin still. All this didn't matter, though, with Snape kissing her. His long fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her in place while his other hand moved to her hip and then her ass, kneading as it went. They kissed and moaned and gasped until, distantly, the breakfast bell sounded. He pushed her away.

"I have to go," he said, trembling, crawling out of her bed and throwing on his various pieces of clothing. "I have to teach," he said. She sat in the bed, disheveled and glassy eyed, her hand pressed to her red and swollen lips. She wanted to say something, but she realized she didn't know what to call him. She thought, at this point, Professor was just as inappropriate as Severus.

"Okay," she said, and she realized that she was shaking too. He looked at her and she looked back, waiting for him to speak, needing just a crumb of reassurance. Instead, he turned around and left without a word. She was shocked and more than a little hurt. It was so hard to tell if he cared at all. She looked down and her shaking hands. Her black slacks were wrinkled and pushed up her legs. Her t-shirt was askew and at some point Snape's hands and made it up her shirt and had unhooked her bra so it hung limply from her shoulders. She pushed her covers aside and went into the bathroom for a cold, cold shower.

oooo

She didn't go to any meals. She stayed in her room working furiously to catch up, leaving only to go to her meetings with teachers. She avoided Harry and Ron. They were pretty much used to her absence anyway and didn't pressure her. They were consumed with their own exams and Qudditch games anyway. She put herself back into quarantine except for this time Snape wasn't anywhere near her.

She ached to see him of course, but he had said that it would be the last time and there was no reason that their make-out session would have changed the rules. They couldn't have a relationship anyway. He was a teacher and she a student, with a full year to go. At least, at this rate, she was way ahead of McGonagall's make-up schedule. She was already half way done with all her work and that was inside a week.

She'd stopped sleeping. She stayed up late into the night, working. She went to her sessions in a zombie-like state. She turned in four or five assignments at a time and flew through her wand work flawlessly and emotionless. Her teachers couldn't criticize her work but they were worried all the same. When Thursday came, she sent Wally with her assignments and chose not to attend. She didn't know of anyone who'd blown off Snape's class before. No one ever forgot his detentions or was late to a meeting. Even being in the hospital wing was a shoddy excuse. Even if you had a note from a professor, he still marked you off as a zero for the day.

None of this mattered to Hermione. She would do her work, but she refused to be alone in a room with him. She refused to be in a room with him at all. She wished she could go home for the summer and take to her bed. Harry would never let her rot away in her rooms if she stayed at Hogwarts but her mother had fought depression all of her life and she knew that her mother would let her lay in bed reading books all summer if she wanted to. She tried to bring up images of hateful Snape, the one who ridiculed her and mocked her in front of her peers. She tried to imagine the look of hatred on his face that night in the shrieking shack but all she could manage was the look of him just as he was about to kiss her.

She couldn't do this. She decided to go to Madame Pomfrey and ask for a dreamless sleep potion. Things would look better after she got some sleep. She ran a brush through her hair just to make it lie flat on her head. It was really growing out now and she either had to live through months of an awkward growing out phase or she had to get it cut again. She sighed with frustration. Why did everything have to remind her of Snape? Now she was flooded with images of him with the scissors and the phantom feeling of his fingers against her scalp. She found her shoes and rushed to the infirmary. She told Madame Pomfrey she was feeling a little under the weather and drank her dreamless sleep potion greedily. She shut her eyes and slept.

oooo

"Miss Granger." She felt a hand on her should, shaking gently. She opened her eyes to see headmaster Dumbledore staring down at her. She looked up into his kind, wrinkled face looking at her with genuine concern and she started to cry. "Oh, now," he said and gathered her into his arms. She wept and wept into his scratchy beard and soft purple robes.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks mottled and red. "I'm so sorry."

"Whatever for?" Dumbledore asked, his hands on her shoulders, gazing intensely into her face.

"I didn't go to my session with Professor Snape," she said.

"While I am not in the habit of condoning skipping class, I hardly think it is worth shedding tears over but then again a good cry is nice every now and then," he answered. "But, Miss Granger, I do believe that your tears have something to do with Professor Snape."

"Please don't make me talk about it," she said, her tears beginning anew.

"You can talk about it when you're ready. However, I must insist that you stick to the schedule that Professor McGonagall provided you. No matter what you and Professor Snape have endured together, I insist your professional relationship remain intact. Is that understood?" he said. She knew that he was right. She hated it, but if she was going to stay at Hogwarts for the summer and the year after that, she would need to learn to coexist with him without falling apart.

"I understand," she said. Dumbledore hugged her once more and left. She lay back on the bed. She knew not only would she not be able to skip anymore of her sessions with Snape but she would have to make up the one she didn't attend. Pomfrey soon ushered Hermione out after a thorough talking too about proper rest and nutrition, especially after overcoming a serious illness. She trudged back to her room with a heavy heart.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice called out. She saw him behind her. "I heard that you were sick. I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better."

"I'm okay," she said, smiling for his benefit. "Just tired. Catching up on the time that I missed is harder than I thought it would be," she said. She didn't bother to mention that it was she who was making it hard on herself.

"Well why don't you take a break? We can take a walk around the lake after classes."

"That sounds nice," she said. Harry grinned and gave her a hug.

"I'll come by your room later," he promised and jogged off to class as not to be late. She continued her trek to her room but paused at the staircase. It was Friday morning – Snape had the first class period free. She wanted to get this over with. She entered his classroom without knocking. He was poised at the blackboard, writing his first lesson on the board with a long, white piece of chalk.

"Professor Snape," she said. His shoulders tensed and the chalk uncharacteristically fell from his fingers out of his surprise. He turned around swiftly.

"Hermione," he said. "You didn't come to our meeting yesterday."

"No," she said, "But I was hoping I could make up for it now."

"Frankly I don't think these sessions are necessary. You're nearly done with all of your missed assignments and you can learn theory just as easily from a book as you can from me," he said dismissively.

"I see," she said. "Well, then there is really no reason for us to see each other at all until the beginning of next term," she said, in what she hoped was a cool voice.

"That isn't what I meant. I was trying to pay you a compliment," he said, walking towards her.

"It didn't feel that way," she said. "I don't understand what's happening. You made the quarantine time so comfortable and then, the other morning… was amazing and then you just disappeared like it didn't mean anything and now you tell me you have no reason to see me? What the hell am I supposed to think?"

He looked stricken. "As much as I want nothing more than what you want, there are other considerations I must take into account," he said.

"Considerations?" she asked.

"Like the dark lord. The closer I get to you… to anyone, the more danger you are in," he said. "I won't take that risk."

"What if I will take the risk?" she countered.

"It isn't up to you," he said. "I will send your graded work up to your rooms with Wally." She nodded. There was nothing left to say.


	8. Chapter 8

Severus Snape sat alone in his classroom, staring at the glass of whiskey in his hand. Next to him was his silver death eater mask. It was late – late enough that he wasn't worried about any students barging in and catching him getting drunk with his secrets. He should have never touched that girl. He was good at shielding his mind but Voldemort was just as good at penetration. What if Voldemort saw something about Hermione that Snape couldn't hide? He had a lot of deaths on his conscience, but never the death of someone he cared about so deeply.

It was amazing how she was all he thought about these days. The look on her face when she left that afternoon was agony. He had broken her heart, it was obvious. He had broken his own as well. He grabbed the mask and threw it with all his might against the stone wall. It hit the stone with a clang and fell just as loudly to the floor, staring at him, mocking him. He couldn't hurt the mask. No amount of strength, no amount of magic could ever damage it. It was forever – just like the death eaters. Just like his past. He drained the alcohol from his glass and walked over to the mask. It glinted in the light from the candles struggling to fill the darkness of his dungeon classroom. He picked it up and tucked it into his robes.

He took his wand from his desk. He needed to talk to Dumbledore and somehow the old man was always in his office when Severus needed him. The password now was – and Snape grimaced as he said it – "snicker doodle" and he was swiftly rising. The office was well lit, but empty. Snape looked around in frustration. The one time he felt like coming clean, the crotchety man was no where in sight. Not wanting to leave empty handed, he took a deep breath.

"I'm in love with Hermione Granger," he said into the empty room. Nodding, as if he had achieved something, he left the office. Dumbledore, who had been just outside in the hallway between his chambers and the office, stroked his beard. The elderly headmaster was not surprised. In another life, he would be rejoicing that such a lonely man had found love in a woman that suited him so well. Instead, Dumbledore was almost sad that the pair would face such obstacles. When Dumbledore had attended Hogwarts, it wasn't uncommon to see the younger male professors courting the older female students but times had changed and there were firm rules set in place by the ministry of magic about under aged wizards. While Dumbledore himself was willing to turn a blind eye, he didn't want to endanger his brilliant double agent or his most promising student in any way. He had important plans for them both in the order. The last thing Severus needed was publicity – he was a spy. He sighed. Hermione needed to graduate before anything happened and that was a full year away. By then it may be too late. Considering Miss Granger's tears, it may have been too late already.

oooo

The walk around the lake had made Hermione feel better. Ron had come too and they had collapsed on the grass and watched the sunset. It was warm and the sun took a long time to set and they were late getting back into the castle but no one really cared. She went to bed feeling tired and almost happy. She wrote to her parents. She wrote her last charms essay and finished her ancient runes worksheet. She climbed into her bed, with every intention of falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She thought about him. She was so frustrated with herself. He was making her crazy. She was so distraught by him that she could practically hear him calling her name. She sat up abruptly, realizing that she wasn't imagining that part. She could hear him fumbling around the darkness of her sitting room. She reached for wand on the night stand and lit the candles. She pulled on her black robe and went to the door. He was in the middle of repairing a vase he'd cracked when he'd run into the coffee table with his shin.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I broke your vase," he replied.

"Here, professor, what are you doing here?" she clarified. She could see that he broke the ugly pink vase that had come with the room.

"You can call me Severus," he said, suddenly. "I should have told you that long ago."

"Severus, then," she said. She'd been calling him Severus in her head for awhile now, though she wouldn't admit it to him or herself, for that matter.

"I came to apologize, mostly," he said. "I was cruel when you left the quarantine and I was cruel when I left that morning and I was cruel today in the classroom."

"Yes, you were," she said. "Though, I know now I was asking too much of you. You were right about Voldemort."

"I was right and wrong," he said. "I… I never meant to hurt you."

"Thank you," she said. "It means a lot that you came." She pointed to the couch he was standing next to. "Have a seat, I'll call Wally for some tea," she said.

"I don't want tea," he said. She sat next to him carefully. They didn't touch. "Hermione."

"The laws are very clear," she said. "And Dumbledore made it very clear to me that there wasn't room for ambiguity. I don't know what to do." His hand reached over and took hers from her lap. He scooted so they were closer and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"It doesn't have to be all or nothing," he said.

"If I had never gotten sick… none of this would have happened," she said. "I would have continued to annoy you until graduation and then you would have happily forgotten my existence."

"Not true," he said. "I would have asked you to stay on as my apprentice."

"Really?" she asked, sitting up. "That would be amazing. You've not taken on an apprentice in years! Professor McGonagall told me in my career meeting that you get a hundred applicants a year and turn them all down!" she said. There was an ambitious glint in her eye that he had missed seeing.

"So you see?" he asked, as if that explained it all.

oooo

Summer came and everyone packed up and left. The fifteen minutes after the Hogwarts Express left were the most bizarre. She and Harry stood in the middle of the front hall and stared at each other. They stood and listened until Professor McGonagall came up to them.

"Mr. Potter..."

"Shhh," he said. McGonagall looked at him, surprised. "Listen."

"To what?" she asked, lowering her voice accordingly.

"Exactly," Hermione said, somberly. McGonagall rolled her eyes.

"We need to discuss some ground rules," she said, her voice back to normal. The spell was broken and so Harry shrugged and they followed her into the Great Hall to sit at a long wooden table and discuss their summer plans. It was fairly simple. Hermione had to take her exams still but she was all caught up and by next week, she'd be finished completely with her sixth year. "The school rules remain the same – even curfew," she said and Harry groaned.

"What does change?" he asked, instantly sad that he couldn't stand in whatever hallway he wanted to at three in the morning.

"You don't have to live in your dorm, you can move into a guest room like Miss Granger's for the summer," she said. "You can go to Hogsmeade on the weekends as long as you are accompanied by an Order member."

"What about visiting my family?" Hermione asked. "They aren't happy about me staying here for the summer, especially after being sick."

"Professor Snape has offered to take you home for a weekend," McGonagall said. "Didn't he tell you?"

After the rules had been set and she'd listened to Harry groan and complain for a sufficient amount of time, he left to go pick out a guest suite and she went down to the dungeons where Snape was mucking out his classroom so it would be cleaned and restocked in time for next term.

"You want to meet my parents?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he said, staring at an unlabeled jar full of a green liquid warily. "Dumbledore said he thought you should be able to see your parents and then he volunteered me. I prefer not to leave the castle during the summers."

"I'm sure someone else…"

"Don't be silly," he snapped. "I'll take a weekend away with you even if it involves Muggles."

"How gracious of you," she said dryly. "I guess I'll write them."

"No need, I already have. We go next weekend, after your exams," he said. She didn't know what to think of his continuing correspondence with her parents but she could tell that this was his way of reaching out whether Dumbledore dropped it in his lap or not.

Her exams were easy enough – she was grateful that her sickness had fallen on the year between the OWLs and NEWTs. With that finished, she set about packing her duffel bag for the weekend. What would her parents want to do with her while she was home? She put in a nice blouse and skirt – her mother would probably want to go to church Sunday morning or if they decided they wanted to eat somewhere nice, she would have a proper outfit. Mostly, though, she figured they would stay in. She wasn't sure the Muggle world was ready to have Severus unleashed upon it just yet, anyhow. Finished, she thought she'd better go make sure Severus was packing something other than his intimidating black robes.

He was in his room looking at an empty suitcase on his bed. It was black, leather, and had his initials monogrammed on it in silver lettering.

"What does the middle S stand for?" she asked, and he turned, smiled a little when he saw her.

"Salazar," he said, looking a little ashamed. "My family is… proud if not noble."

"Well, I thought you might like a little company while you packed," she said.

"I haven't really spent much time with Muggles," he admitted. "Of course, your parents know who I am; still, I somehow feel that my wardrobe isn't compatible with your suburban home."

"I suppose not. We can transfigure some things," she offered and he nodded. He took out a few older things – pants, cloaks, and shirts.

"Will these do?" he asked.

"Sure," she said. She lowered the waist on the pairs of slack and made the rows of buttons into a zipper. He raised an eyebrow. She altered a few shirts – even made one short sleeved. By the time she was done, she thought that he would be fine and, for his benefit, she left everything black.

In the morning, bright and early, they met in the great hall and used the large fireplace there to floo to Diagon alley. From there, Hermione led them on to the underground and they headed to her childhood home while most people were just getting to work. She was nervous and tired on the underground and he let her sit down while he stood in front of her, holding onto the pole near the door. Her knees banged against his legs with the movement and he stood in front of her, looking down at her fondly while she struggled to keep her eyes open. Finally, she heard her stop on the garbled announcement system and she tugged his sleeve. He was in black slacks and a white button down shirt. She'd insisted that he didn't tuck it in. With his long black hair and skinny legs, he looked more like a rock star than a wizard. If Hermione were to bring a man like this home under any other circumstances, her parents would have a cow. She'd never really explained Snape to them – in a physical sense. They knew he lived and taught in the dungeons and that he was smart and kind of a loner, but he was sort of severe to look at when you first saw him.

Hermione's parents had offered to pick them up at the station so they didn't have to deal with luggage but Hermione had waved them off. The luggage was safely in Hermione's coat pocket already and it was a short walk to her house. Severus looked around at the quiet, suburban neighborhood. It was a little cloudy but that would probably burn off later to a clear day of sunshine. It was summer, after all. It smelled like lilacs when the wind blew.

She could tell he had questions and that he was holding them in. She was actually grateful for that. She didn't feel like defending or explaining her Muggle lifestyle at the moment. Finally, Hermione spotted her house and pointed to it.

"That one, number 47," she said. "Are you ready?"

"Are you expecting something dire?" he asked, smirking.

"No, I've just never brought anyone home to meet my parents, before," she said, feeling foolish as she said it. It wasn't exactly like they'd had a choice about the matter. He was an authority figure, not her boyfriend. Still, she wondered how her parents would treat him. As a common house guest or something more? She thought about ringing the doorbell but the idea of waiting on the porch for an awkward eternity was unappealing and so she just turned the knob and pushed the wooden door open. The front hall was deserted but she could hear breakfast sounds from the kitchen. She could smell bacon frying and so she shut the door behind them and removed the luggage quietly from her coat. Severus enlarged the pieces and waited while Hermione went into the kitchen.

"Hey Mum, hey Dad," she said. Her mother stood at the stove and her dad was at the table reading the paper. They were already dressed, thankfully. She didn't want them meeting Severus in the pajamas. Her parents looked up and then both rushed at her, pulling her body close, touching her shorter hair, kissing her cheeks, generally making sure she was in once piece. Finally, they stepped back.

"Where is Mr. Snape?" They asked, her mother rushing to take the bacon off the heat before it burned.

"He's here," she said, motioning to him where he was standing just out of eyesight of her family. He came through the door, ducking slightly – too tall for the Muggle world.

"I am Severus Snape," he said, looking at her parents with his most impassive face, most likely to hide his nervousness. Hermione herself would be wary of that expression, but the most extraordinary thing happened. Her parents smiled and hugged him, too.

oooo

She settled him into the guest room trying to hide the smirk on her face but every time he looked at her he would roll his eyes and sigh and she would just smile bigger. She thought that she would be mortified while her parents still had their arms around her potions professor but now, later, she was glad that her family could embrace him in the same way that she had. He sat down on the double bed in the passive, blue room.

"This will be just fine," he said, but she wasn't sure if it was for her benefit or for his own. It wasn't very late – in fact they had only minutes to situate themselves before they were expected to be back down at breakfast. She left her luggage outside her door at the end of the hall. She didn't want him to see all her stuffed animals and picture books – the Dr. Who poster. She wished could just magic the embarrassment away but Snape had her wand with his things – she was underage and out of school grounds and so she wasn't to use magic. Magic would also run the risk of alerting the death eaters that she had left the school and was with him. Magic was rare in such heavily Muggle populated areas.

"Good," she said, and sat gingerly next to him on the bed. He moved his hand so it sat lightly on her knee. "Thank you," she whispered. He didn't know was to say and so he applied more pressure, gave the soft, white skin a gentle squeeze. He longed to touch her, to press his nose into her shoulder, to kiss her face and her stomach and the back of her knee. Instead, they leaped guiltily apart when footsteps sounded on the stairs. They were already out in the hall when her father's head poked up the top of the stairs.

"It's time," he said and she nodded, too eagerly. They went downstairs and sat at the round, wooden table in the warm, bright kitchen. Severus had grown up in his family's manor – cold stone and many echoing rooms. This was a small house that was made to fit no more than three people but he could see that it was just right for the three people (two, now) who lived there. He thought that growing up in such a place would be more than tolerable which was still leaps and bounds better than his childhood. There were books everywhere in the house, even spilling into the kitchen. Stacks of them on every subject. There were magnets and pictures on the large, white appliance near the sink which he assumed was for keeping the perishables cold. He finally noticed that the sound of silverware against dish had ceased and he looked back at his table companions who were all watching him with the same amused expression.

"Pardon me," he said, "I don't spend much time with the non-magic community and I rarely enter their personal living space."

"That's quite all right, dear," her mother said, kindly. "I don't have any plans for the weekend other than catching up with my daughter."

Severus could take a hint. "I have no problem leaving your family alone."

"That isn't what she meant!" Hermione jumped in quickly.

"Of course not," her mother said, in just the same tone. Her name was Jane, and she had the same bushy hair as her daughter, it was just much lighter – blonde like Lavender Brown. Her father had not much hair to speak of but it was the same brown that Hermione had – or had been once before the temples had turned gray. He remembered they were healers of some sort… fingernails or teeth or something. He couldn't quite recall. "I meant that we will do whatever you two wish to do."

"I have to work today," her father piped in and he could see that Hermione would have been disappointed except for his presence. Her father had hugged him out of sheer relief and adrenaline, but he was quiet now and Snape suspected he was quiet most of the time – dominated by the women of the family. "I'll be home for dinner."

"We could go see a movie, or stay in, or perhaps go out to lunch and do a spot of shopping," her mother offered. Snape found himself mildly curious as to see what a day in the life of a Muggle was like. He suspected it would be like that day when he was 26 and he broke his wand while deep within the forbidden forest. He'd had had to hike out without food or water and it'd taken him hours.

"I could use a few more supplies," he heard Hermione say.

"Special supplies?" he heard her mother ask doubtfully. Severus looked over at Hermione and she twitched, ever so slightly.

"I would be more than happy to take your daughter on all her wizard-related outings from now on," he said. Her mother smiled and her father stood, clapped his shoulder once, and left for work. They wanted to be accepting of their unique abilities but they liked the help, too. Hermione smiled and ate the rest of her eggs gingerly.

In fact, Hermione didn't go with him to Diagon Ally later. She gave him a list and a sack of coins and sent him off while she had dutiful quality time with her mother. Besides, she had assured him, he wouldn't want to spend an afternoon in the woman's section of Harrod's. He took her word for it. It didn't dawn on him until they parted that the whole point of this awkward getaway together was that he would keep an eye on her. Now, she was alone in the metropolis of downtown without her wand and without his protection. Anxiety filled him immediately and he apparated back to the Granger homestead with a crack startling many patrons of Diagon Ally. It was considered impolite to apparate outside of designated areas but he didn't care. She had mentioned vaguely where they were going and so he started out on foot – going the direction they'd come from. Once he reached the underground entrance, he descended the stairs to look at the map on the wall of the city. The store was not on it, of course, but he thought that perhaps he would just go toward the most popular, dense area. He walked past the turnstile, keeping his wand in his pocket just in case someone said something but no one did.

The train was crowded and he remembered the feeling of Hermione's knees pressed against his legs but this time he sat down between an elderly woman in a tweed overcoat and a younger man with a white cord plugged into either ear. His head was bobbing to some internal beat and Severus wrote it off as some Muggle contraption that he had no interest in anyway. He kept an eye on the map but when most the people got off he decided to go too. He could always apparate back to the Granger's house – it was impossible to apparate to somewhere you've never been before.

Luck was in his favor. The Harrod's was enormous, taking up at least the entire block and he could see it immediately. He suddenly was awash with an emotion he wasn't exactly familiar with… was it fear? Oh he felt something similar when standing in the presence of the Dark Lord but what he felt then was a deep, agonizing terror but this was a little bit to the left of that and completely irrational. The store was milling with people going in and out of the doors. He approached slowly and a middle aged, dumpy woman smacked him with her handbag as she walked briskly by. She glared at him and he held on to his arm which now stung. He scowled back but she didn't cower like he was used to. Was this how he made his students feel?

He moved into the stream at a faster pace and tried not to flinch when the glass doors opened for him. Inside his sensitive nose was overwhelmed with the smell of a hundred different perfumes. He coughed and felt his eyes water. People came here intentionally? He felt like sending up red sparks and hoping that Hermione saw them and found him but then it was rather important that he found her. He tried not to think of what would happen if he couldn't find her. He needed to do a location spell of some kind but it was illegal to do magic in front of Muggles and there were so many! He was tall enough to see over most of the racks and he didn't see he her springy curls that were getting longer again. He'd meant to offer her another trim before they'd come on this trip.

What could he do? He didn't see her on the first floor so he went up the escalator. By the fourth and final floor he was beginning to worry and look for a quiet place in which he could use his wand. He was just about to go into a woman's dressing room when he heard her voice coming from the area labeled 'House wares'.

She was holding a set of bed sheets discussing thread count with her mother, safe and sound.

"What were you thinking just going off by yourself like that? I need to be with you all the time. This is a mad house – anyone could see you here and when you vanish, how am I supposed to find you?" he said, grabbing her arm and throwing the sheets down out of her hand. Her mother gasped, shocked by his sudden appearance.

"I don't… what are you doing here? We talked about this; I thought you wouldn't want to go!" she said. He was scaring her because he really sounded worried.

"Hermione, you are the smart one here. You need to pick up my slack!" He said. "I have your wand, I had to take Muggle transportation to find you, and all this so… so… do you know what could have happened?" He whispered, trying to discourage people from staring.

"Severus," she whispered. "Everything is fine."

"It won't always be," he said. She put her hand on his face and gathered him into a calming hug.

"Hermione," her mother interrupted. "I've lost my taste for shopping. Let's go." Hermione nodded and so they gathered all of their already paid for bags and made their way for the train station. Suddenly the nature of Hermione and the professor's relationship was all rather murky.


	9. Chapter 9

Severus had scared the Grangers, he could tell by the silence at dinner. He'd also embarrassed Hermione. She stared into her dinner plate and chewed quietly. He didn't feel like he'd been in the wrong however. The only wrong he'd committed was letting her go off on her own like that. He ate his stew daring her to pick a fight, like he knew she was brimming to do. Her father finished and left to go watch the news in the living room. Her mother took his bowl which was mostly empty when he was mostly finished. Hermione took her dishes to the kitchen and came back with a wet rag to wipe down the table. She had been so sweet to him in the store, but now the panic had worn off at and she was upset at the scene.

She stormed upstairs when she was finished. Not wishing to be alone with either of her parents, he walked upstairs and knocked on her closed bedroom door. She didn't answer but he could hear her inside, moving around; setting things down with a bang. He opened the door and saw her sitting on the floor in front of an empty bookcase, surrounded by books.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Alphabetizing my books," she snapped. "I don't recall inviting you in."

"I'm sorry I upset your family, but anything could have happened," he said.

"Yes, like I could have gotten new sheets and an afternoon to catch up with my mother," she said. "Instead I got no sheets and the shit scared out of me by a CRAZY PERSON."

"I was worried," he said.

"I work very hard to keep my parents in the dark about Voldemort, Professor Snape. They know about the war but they think I have to stay at Hogwarts this summer because of the sickness. If they knew how dangerous it really was? I don't know, but it doesn't help to have you tracking me down and causing a scene," she said. "Things are different for Muggles, and it's time you arrogant pure bloods realize that."

Snape was a bit taken aback. He'd never heard her talk that way, especially about bloodlines, something she worked hard to not care about. She always took the high road in regards to the younger Malfoy running around calling her 'mudblood' all the time.

"I…" he tried not to choke on the word. "I apologize."

"Thank you," she said. "But I think that we should go anyway."

"We don't have to leave until tomorrow," he pointed out.

"I know, but this is something I've been struggling with for a long time. If I'm going to be part of the wizarding world, I'm going to have to let my Muggle life go," she wiped at her cheeks; he realized she'd begun to cry.

"Give up your family?" he asked. "That's a little extreme."

"Is it? They would never rest if they knew that we were on the brink of a war that was centered around my best friend. They are safer if I keep my distance and you know that's the truth," she said.

"What will you tell them?" he asked.

"That I don't feel well," she said. "I don't, I don't feel well about being here anymore. This isn't my home." She sighed and motioned to the pile of books. "Will you finish this for me?"

"Of course," he said. He waved his wand the books flew up onto the shelves, alphabetizing themselves in the process. He sat next to her on the ground and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him and closed her eyes. She wasn't mad at him, she was mad at the situation. She was actually glad he was there. She let her nose rest against his collarbone and she breathed deeply. He kissed the top of her head, her forehead and she tilted her head up to kiss him properly. He pressed his tongue against her lips and she parted them for him, letting the kiss deepen. She intoxicated him and he knew he would have gone insane if something would have happened to her.

She pulled away and smiled at him.

"We can't do this here," she said. "Let's leave in the morning, hmm?" He nodded, and stood.

"Will your family understand if I retreat for the rest of the evening?" he asked. She nodded.

"We'll all be downstairs if you need anything," she said.

In the guestroom he stretched out on the hard, double bed provided for him and stared at the low, plaster ceiling. He was used to living inside cold, damp stone and this modern house was simply full of surprises. He'd already gone through the desk in the room, writing on the thin, lined paper with the Muggle writing devises. The ink was actually on the inside which was an interesting idea. Quills lasted much longer, however. The ink inside a Muggle pen ran out long before the tip of a quill dulled. There were a few romance novels in the room as well as some other non-fiction books on Muggle politics but nothing interested him. On the shelf of the closet, however, was a photo album. He cracked it quietly and was delighted to find pictures of Hermione and her family years ago. Hermione looked to be six or seven and was in all sorts of different situations. Halloween costumes, football uniforms, ballet outfits. She looked the same, but younger. When it got too dark to see, he fumbled around trying to turn on the lamp. The light that flooded from the bulb was too bright and fake – he was not used to the severity of electricity. He'd grown up in fire light, after all.

Finally, he heard the house settle into to slumber. He was glad he'd never bothered to unpack his small, weekend bag. Dumbledore didn't expect them back for another night, maybe even two. He looked at the bag filled with clean clothes and books and money. What if they went somewhere – alone, together? He pushed the thought away, though. If it wasn't safe for her to go out shopping, it was hardly safe for them to spend a night at a bed and breakfast in the Muggle countryside or any other ridiculous location people went for holiday. He decided that, though he wasn't actually tired, he would try to sleep and stripped off his transfigured clothes until he was left in only his underwear. He never had full nights of sleep and he thought maybe it would do him some good.

The bed was not his own, however, and he had trouble drifting off to sleep. He knew Hermione was in the next room and he knew that she wasn't asleep. He could hear her moving around, tossing in her own bed as well. He got up and placed his hand against the wall where her head would be. Kissing her had ignited the fire within him, one he worked hard to keep under control. He was always worried about being caught, losing his job, getting her expelled, worrying her. But now, he was distracted by the taste of her and they weren't at Hogwarts. Sometimes, when he thought about all the consequences, he remembered how close she had been to dying that first month of treatment. Everything fell into perspective then. Pulling on his trousers, he opened his door softly and stuck his head into the hall. All was quiet and dark except for the sliver of light coming from under her bedroom door. So she was awake then, and probably reading. He tiptoed out of his room and knocked lightly on her door. He heard the movement pause and then the doorknob turned and the door opened.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"I can't sleep," he admitted. She rolled her eyes and opened the door fully, waving him in. The lamp on her desk was turned on low and the bed was rumpled from use. He saw a book lying open on her pillow though it looked cheap and flimsy – not even a hard cover. He looked at her standing with her robe wrapped around her. She looked more tired than usually and dark circles were under her eyes. She sat down on the bed and looked at him. "Hermione?" he asked.

"I told my parents we were leaving. I told them I probably wouldn't be back for a long time," she said.

"What did they say?" he asked.

"My father was angry, my mother upset. They don't understand." She shrugged. "It is my choice, though." He had made the same choice as a child but there was no love in his childhood. He could see that the Grangers loved their daughter very much.

"It will not always be war time," he said. It was little consolation. She lay back on the pillow and scooted close to the wall to make space for him. He was a little surprised but obliged. He could feel the heat emanating from her body. It was a warm night, summer, after all, and she was wrapped up in a flannel robe. He reached over and pressed his hand against her cheek, her forehead. She was warm, too warm. He got up and switched on the overhead light with the toggle on the wall and turned off the yellow bulb of the desk light. Her skin looked yellow.

"What are you doing?" she asked, opening her eyes. "Severus?"

"How do you feel?" he asked, barking it like an order.

"Tired," she said. "Let's go to bed."

"I'm serious, Hermione, are you achy? Are you cold? Are you nauseous?" She looked at him, and then looked away, as if finally considering the questions.

"Yes, I suppose I am all of those. I am just miserable because of the fight. Everything else is just psychological," she said.

"Get dressed," he said and threw open her door to go back to his room and get dressed himself. The bang of her door and then his caused her father to open the door leading to the master bed room and turn on the hallway light.

"What's going on here?" he asked, obviously having been woken from the noise.

"I'm sorry Mr. Granger," Snape said, emerging into the hall buttoning his frock coat. He no longer bothered with the transfigured clothing; he wouldn't need Muggle clothes any longer. "Hermione and I must depart tonight."

"Whatever for?" Hermione asked, but she had pulled on a sweater and a rumpled pair of jeans.

"I'm taking you to St. Mungos," Snape said. "Say your goodbyes."

They would keep her overnight at the hospital. They said something about her liver being damaged and Snape had yelled that stating the obvious wasn't at all helpful and so the healer had been keeping him in the dark probably out of spite. Snape had his own theories, however. The regimen of potions she had been put on was too much for her liver and it had slowly stopped working. It stopped filtering her blood causing the yellowed skin. It was easy enough to filter the blood magically, but getting her liver to work properly again was another story. Most organs could be revitalized by potions, but since the liver filtered, a potion was somewhat out of the question.

He owled Dumbledore the moment they took her away from him. Snape was sitting in a waiting area with his head in his hands when Dumbledore strolled in with a bland smile on his face, as if he had just arrived to a vacation spot.

"Hello, my boy," Dumbledore said. "How is Miss Granger?"

"I've cured one thing only by ruining another," he said, bitterly. "Her liver has ceased to function."

"I'd hardly compare cancer to a failing organ," Dumbledore said, sitting next to Snape. "Did you know that Muggle healers – doctors, they're called – will actually take a liver from one person and put it in another? They call it a transplant." Snape stared at him, disgusted. "Just a fun fact; I'll go see what I can find out." Dumbledore stood. It was late – the middle of the night now and Snape realized how tired he was. He wished they'd never come on this trip. He'd totally alienated her from her family in a matter of hours, first with his outburst in Harrod's and then in the hallway, whisking her away without an explanation. He wondered why he hadn't caught the slow decline of her liver before now. He should have expected it as a possible outcome to the intense treatment. She hadn't said anything to him though. She wasn't a complainer.

Dumbledore returned before too long.

"They've given her a sleeping draught and they will keep her for a few days but she will be fine, Severus."

"How will they fix her liver?" he asked.

"Fix it? That's impossible. They've already taken out the old one and have started to grow another," he explained. "Soon she will be as good as new. Now, come back to Hogwarts with me."

"I'll stay," he said.

"They won't let you see her until morning and she won't wake until then, either. You need rest, too," he said. Snape knew he was right but he still scowled as they left to apparate back to the gates of the massive castle.

In his room he did not bother to light a fire. He did not go for his bottle of whiskey and he did not bother to read or shower or finish his article for a potions journal. He knew he ought to record Hermione's liver failure in his notes on her treatment but he could not bring himself to do so quite yet. He stood in his cold, quiet, lonely room and decided he could not stand another moment there.

He went to Hermione's quarters. It was an unstated rule that people did not go in other people's quarters without permission, but she was gone and he knew her password ("Restricted Section") and inside the guestrooms, he saw her belongings lying around and he felt marginally better. It wasn't as if she had died. In fact, he had been surprised that the treatment had been successful at all – one organ failure after all this time was really the best that could happen. It was just hard seeing it happen to Hermione, to someone he loved, instead of some nameless, faceless patient.

He sat down on her loveseat and lit the fire with his wand. It wasn't cold but he liked the way the fire looked. He did love Hermione – he never wanted to be without her. He'd fought the feelings, of course, she still had a full year of schooling and most probably a war to get through. But, now, faced with the prospect of truly being without her, he was a lost man. His thoughts were interrupted by her portrait swinging open and Harry Potter stepping through.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," Snape said. Harry shrugged and let the portrait close.

"Professor Dumbledore told me about Hermione," he admitted. "I guess this is as close as I can get to visiting her right now." Snape didn't respond – he didn't want to agree with Potter. Harry sat down in the arm chair and slumped down, staring gloomily into the flames. "We're going to have to work something out, you and I," he said finally.

"I assure you I don't know what you're talking about," Snape barked.

"I mean if you're going to be hanging around Hermione all the time, we're going to have to learn to be civil," Harry clarified, through clenched teeth.

"Hanging around Miss Granger?" Snape asked, tiredly.

"Oh come off it, Snape."

"Sir."

"Sir. You spend more time with Hermione than I do. All she does is talk about you. She's crazy about you," Harry said. "Which, I thought she was setting herself up for a world of pain, but here you are sitting in her quarters. You went MIA for three months to heal her and you met her parents. I think that you like her as much as she likes you."

"Just what are you implying, you half-wit?" Snape yelled.

"That she is your friend," he said, "Something you could use these days." Snape rubbed his forehead, he could feel a headache coming on. He opened his mouth to respond when he felt his forearm start to burn.

"I have to go," Snape said, rising.

"Is it…?"

"Yes," he said, looking at the boy who would come to save the wizarding world. "Tell the headmaster I have been summoned."


	10. Chapter 10

He expected a circle of death eaters awaiting him, watching him smugly from behind cold masks while he prostrated himself to the dark lord. Instead he was alone in the woods, and Voldemort stood while he fell to his knees and uttered meaningless praise.

"Do you know why I have called you here, Severus?" he asked, hissing. His voice was high pitched and gravelly.

"I am forever at your service, my lord," Snape replied. Usually when Voldemort wanted to punish one of his servants, he did so publicly as to make an example out of whoever was so unfortunate to incur the dark lord's wrath. Snape hoped the lack of an audience meant he was safe from any unforgivable curses but in truth he was even more afraid.

"Lucius saw the young Miss Granger at St. Mungo's this morning. You were sleeping in the house of that filthy mudblood bitch and you did not invite your fellow death eater's over for the party? That is just bad manners."

"I thought you wanted me to earn her trust… to win her over. I could hardly do that after killing her family, my lord," Snape said,

"No, I suppose not. Regardless, those Muggles will be the next to die. The little whore can turn to you for comfort," Voldemort said. Snape tried to think of a way to change his mind, frantically.

"If we are to lure her over to our side, master, wouldn't killing her family only make her angrier for revenge?" Snape asked.

"She will be angry with Dumbledore; the old fool won't even be strong enough to save a few Muggles," Voldemort spat. "And now I am angry with your incessant questions." Snape lowered his head and tensed his shoulders. He knew what was to come.

oooo

It was near sunrise when Snape staggered through the gates of Hogwarts, limping his way slowly towards the front doors. His legs gave out half way there and he let himself succumb to unconsciousness knowing he would wake up in the hospital wing as he always did.

Dumbledore sat by his bed and Poppy leaned over him, both waiting impatiently for him to come to. The light hurt his eyes and so he opened the begrudgingly, squinting.

"There you are, my boy," Dumbledore said. "How do you feel?"

"Headache potion," he growled and Poppy handed him the magenta vile. He threw it back and some of the fog lifted. He sat up, his body still hurt. "He is planning on killing Miss Granger's family," he said, pushing the covers off and looking around for his shoes. "I must go warn her."

"Where does he think he is going?" Poppy cried, looking at Dumbledore for some help.

"We have some time before St. Mungo's will even let us enter the building," Dumbledore assured him. "We'll simply remove the Granger's and Order members will be waiting for the Death Eaters at the Granger Homestead." Suddenly Snape understood.

"This isn't about killing Muggles, Albus, this is a test of my loyalty. There wasn't anyone else summoned last night. If we help the Granger's, he'll know that I've told you and if we don't, Hermione will lose her family." There was no response to this. They couldn't lose Snape as a spy and they couldn't let the Grangers die.

"Why did he choose Hermione?" Dumbledore asked.

"Lucius saw her at St. Mungo's… he probably has one of the healer's in his pocket. Voldemort knew we had gone to her family's house for the night. He knows that Miss Granger was sick and that I cured her. I was supposed to earn her trust, turn her against you."

"He knows that you care for Miss Granger," Dumbledore supplied. Severus looked down at his feet, his socks dark against the stone of the infirmary floor.

Poppy let him go about an hour later to shower and change his clothes. Dumbledore and Potter were waiting out by the gates. Potter had on a ratty pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt and some old trainers – one was untied.

"You aren't actually poor anymore, Potter, I don't see why you insist on looking the part all the time," Snape snapped, irritated the boy was tagging along; irritated he was spending the summer at Hogwarts.

"And you're not actually a vampire, Sir, but to each their own," Harry replied cheerfully. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Play nice," he said and took Harry's hand so the three could apparate to St. Mungo's.

Hermione looked much better; her skin was pink again with her blood cleansed though she had to lie very still as to not disrupt her liver's re-growth. Her abdomen was charmed to not move and it made her movements jerky and almost robotic. She smiled when the three men were escorted into her single room and even blushed when Harry leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked.

"Grateful to be alive, apparently," she said. "Thanks to Professor Snape." Snape looked away, his guilt silencing him.

"Will you promise to tell someone when you feel ill from now on, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, Headmaster," she said, chastised.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Hermione," Harry piped in. She smiled and tried to reach for his hand. He touched it briefly and let her relax.

"Hermione, we have something serious to talk to you about," Dumbledore said, conjuring three chairs with a swish of his wand. They sat, though Snape somehow was left with the middle chair and he focused all his energy on staring at her knees and keeping his expression impassive. He still had not looked her in the eye.

"What is it?" she said, suddenly looking fearful. "Is something else wrong with my liver?"

"No, your health isn't the problem," Dumbledore said. "Last night, Severus was summoned by Voldemort." Hermione swallowed, and Snape could feel her eyes burning holes in him.

"And?" Hermione asked.

"Perhaps it would be best if Severus explained for himself," Dumbledore said. Snape cursed the old man and forced himself to look at Hermione. She looked scared, yes, but concerned as well. He knew her well enough to know she was concerned for him and not herself. He scooted the chair forward and wished he could take her hand and stroke it softly. Perhaps Potter knew they were closer than a normal student and teacher but he didn't want Dumbledore realizing that when he cared for Miss Granger, it was also in a physical sense.

"Hermione, to put it simply, the death eaters are planning to attack your parents, next," he said. Her eyes got wide and slowly filled with tears. She didn't say anything for a moment but finally took a deep breath.

"I assume there is more?" she asked.

"There was no one to witness the dark lord's instructions," he said.

"I see. So if the Order shows up, he'll know you're a spy and if no one is there, my parents will die," she said. She turned away, looked out the window. St. Mungo's, of course, was underground as were most wizarding buildings in heavily Muggle areas so the window was enchanted. Still, it felt like the real early morning summer sun filtering in through the gauzy curtains and Hermione closed her eyes and let the light warm her cheeks. She wanted to get up, to jump around, to throw something, to scream but she couldn't move. She had another day and a half of this treatment. It was some how so much worse than three months of torture with Snape. "Well, I guess it's clear, then," she said, sniffing.

"I will go into hiding." Snape said, immediately.

"I didn't… you're too important. You are the greater good," she said. "My parents are dentists."

"No one is asking to give up your family, Hermione," Harry said, glaring at Snape.

"Then what do we do?" she asked. "I don't want anyone to die. Not my parents, not Professor Snape, and not you, Harry," she said. "It all feels so senseless."

"We will move the Grangers, Professor Snape and your self to a safe house," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding deep and authoritative. "Harry, would you be the secret keeper?"

"Of course, Headmaster," Harry said.

"Knowing Tom, there isn't much time to lose, then," he said. "Harry, run and get the healer. We're going to have to move Miss Granger in her condition." Harry left quickly. "Severus, my boy, I'm sorry." Dumbledore left too, then, perhaps to notify Hermione's family or some order members. Snape and Hermione were alone, if only for a few minutes. The false weather outside the window had changed drastically, rain now beat against the window.

"Where will we go?" Hermione whispered finally.

"I don't know," he said. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. This is all my fault."

"Nonsense. It was only a matter of time before my family and I became a target," she said. "At least we get to be together." She whispered this, reaching for his hand with her jerky movement. He touched her fingers with his own. Finally, Dumbledore and Harry returned, both looking hurried.

"Miss Granger, your parents have arrived safely," Dumbledore said.

"Already?" she asked.

"I'm afraid it is time for you to go," he said, but not unkindly. Snape stood and slid his arms underneath Hermione who tried not to wince as he lifted her and held her firmly against his chest.

"Just like I taught you, Harry," Dumbledore said, handing Harry the empty mug that had been part of Hermione's breakfast. Harry took out his wand and said the charm that turned the mug into the portkey. He handed it to Hermione who pressed it against the skin of Snape's hand.

"Bye, Hermione," Harry said, sadly. She didn't get a chance to respond before they were whisked away.

oooo

Hermione had been asleep for a few hours, now. Her parents had insisted on staying by her side which Snape was happy about since it afforded him the opportunity to explore his new home in peace. It was a two story wizard house. There was no electricity and the pantry was charmed to stay cold in lieu of one of those Muggle ice boxes. There were no elves, however. Snape found his things in one of the bedrooms upstairs and there were suitcases in the master bedroom – he assumed they were filled with the Granger's belongings. Hermione was put in the downstairs bedroom and it wasn't long before her things arrived with a pop.

There was a kitchen, a living room, a formal dining room but no basement or attic. It was livable, but by no means somewhere Snape would want to live permanently. He was afraid they would all be very bored there.

Finally, he sat down at the round, wooden table in the kitchen and made himself a pot of tea. There was food and he imagined there would be more arriving at least once a week. He wasn't even into his second mug before Hermione's parents came out of her room and sat down at the table.

"Where are we?" Her father asked, finally, after fixing himself and a wife a mug of tea.

"I don't know," Snape said, honestly. "The only person who knows is Harry Potter."

"What about that Bumblybore fellow?" her mother asked.

"Oh, I'm sure Albus chose the location originally, but once the Fidelius charm was performed, any memory he had of the place would have been gone," Snape explained, patiently. "Only if Harry tells someone our location will they be able to find us. The more people who know, the more danger we are in."

"Can Harry really be trusted?" her father asked.

"As irritating as I find the boy to be, Harry cares greatly for your daughter and will do anything in his power to keep her safe," he assured them. This seemed to appease the two Muggles very little. "It will take, ah, some adjustment living in a wizard household, I assume, so if you have any questions, I will endeavor to answer them," he added.

"What about groceries?" Hermione's mother asked.

"All necessities will be provided," he said.

"Then you won't mind if I make some breakfast?" she asked.

"Mrs. Granger, if you want to make all of the meals, I will not stop you," Snape said with a small smirk. She smiled.

"You can call me Jane, if you'd like, Mr. Snape," she said.

"Roger," Mr. Granger added. He nodded.

"Severus," he allowed.

"Can we leave the house?" Mr. Granger asked, finally.

"No," Snape said. "Even if you wanted to, you could not cross any threshold."

"What happens if those people find us?" he asked. "If that boy slips up?"

"We will die," Snape said. He drained the last of his tea and cleaned the cup with his wand. Hermione's parents watched wearily. "If you'll excuse me, I would like to check on your daughter's condition. The travel was not good for her." He left the kitchen, glad to momentarily be free of their questions, even if he had offered to answer them. He knocked lightly and opened the door without waiting for a response, thinking she would be asleep.

"Hello," she said when he came in.

"I thought you'd be asleep," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Can this charm come off, yet?" she asked.

"Maybe tonight," he said. He took out his wand and performed the charm to see how the re-growth was progressing. "Maybe tonight," he said again.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"I don't know. If I had to guess I'd say we left Britain but outside of that we could be anyplace," he said, looking around her room. It had a double bed, a wooden night stand, white paint on the walls, and little else. "We could be here a long time," Snape said, reality sinking in.

"What will we do?" she asked.

"Wait," he said. "What else is there?"

oooo

They fell into a sort of desperate rhythm. Mrs. Granger cooked, Mr. Granger paced, and Severus sat by Hermione's bedside. He had removed the charm days ago and given her a clean bill of health but she still stayed in bed – he suspected she was depressed and little else. No one said very much. No owls came but Snape suspected no news was good news. At least there were books, both Hermione and Snape's magical library plus a good portion of the Granger's Muggle collection. Everyone read voraciously, trying to live in another world for a little while.

It was frustrating for the Granger's. Anytime they wanted a fireplace or a sconce lit, they had to ask Snape or Hermione to do it with a wand. There were no matches in a magical household or any switches on the walls.

The only time Snape didn't feel like he was walking on eggshells was when the Granger's were asleep. He relished the middle of the night, the dark slumber of the safe house. He would wander the halls. He would stand outside the Granger's rooms and listen to them snoring, making sure they were truly in for the night. He would go downstairs, eat a light snack – there were plenty of leftovers all of the time – Jane Granger cooked for an army. Finally he would conjure a chair outside Hermione's closed door and sit there until the sun rose listening to her sleep, listening to her cry.

Part of him wanted to go in and comfort her but he was scared. He feared she blamed him for this predicament – his guilt kept him away.

It was so late it was early when Hermione decided she was hungry enough to venture out of her small, square room confident that she wouldn't encounter any other members of the safe house. She opened the door and stuck her head out.

"Hermione," Snape said, sitting up tiredly. She jumped at the sound of his voice and whirled around to see him sitting vigil by her door.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I couldn't sleep," he lied. In fact, he'd been fighting sleep for some time now. "Do you need anything?"

"I was just going to go get a snack," she admitted.

"I'll fix you something, come on," he said, standing and stretching a little, trying to get the blood to start circulating in his limbs once more.

"I'm capable of putting a piece of meat between two slices of bread by myself, Severus," she said.

"Nevertheless," he said and led her into the kitchen. "Sit." She did as she was told, maybe because he was her professor when you got right down to it and she was a good student. "Your mother is a talented woman in the kitchen," he said, pulling the makings of a sandwich out of the pantry.

"My parents are good a lot of things," she said.

"Just like you," he said. She smiled a little.

"I'm not mad at you," she said. He didn't respond and his silence told her that he didn't believe her. "I'm just… this year has been really hard. The cancer and visiting my parents and having you flip out in Harrod's and my liver and whatever it is that we have," she said. "This isn't at all how I thought things would be."

He set down the sandwich in front of her with a bottle of butterbeer and sat across from her.

"And now," she continued, "After I had decided to stay away from my parents to protect them, we're thrown together for God knows how long. Ironic, no?" She gave a dry chuckle that had no actual resemblance to mirth. "I always thought I would be by Harry's side when the final days came and instead we're here, useless to the cause. It's infuriating."

"I wanted to be there, too." he said. "Potter cares about you. I believe he'd rather have you safe and healthy than in danger and in this instance I would have to agree with him."

"You're agreeing with Harry? It's a miracle," she said.

He reached out and took her hand, lacing her fingers with his own.

"This too shall pass," he said. It was of little consolation. She ate her sandwich and sipped at her butterbeer. It wasn't alcoholic in the same sense as firewhisky or any of the Muggle alcohols. It didn't impair judgment any which is why underage wizards were allowed to drink it but it left the drinker with a warm, fuzzy feeling low in their bellies. Hermione felt a little better after finishing her bottle which is probably why Snape had given her it instead of tea or cold pumpkin juice. Her parents drank the tea and her father had even tried the butterbeer but neither Muggle cared much for the pumpkin juice. "Perhaps this will turn out for the best, anyhow. This way you don't have to distance yourself from your family at all," he said.

"That's true," she said, but she sounded uncertain. "Severus? What if Harry doesn't succeed?"

Snape just shook his head. He didn't want to live in that world.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione seemed to improve after their late night meeting. In the morning, she dressed and came out to breakfast. She didn't have much in the way of clothing because she'd taken most of her travel and Muggle clothes home and what the elves had sent was from school. She had mostly school clothes and a few sets of pajamas. She wore her white button down school shirt and transfigured her skirt into a pair of Bermuda shorts so at least she didn't have to worry about keeping her bum covered if she decided to do anything other than sit or stand.

"Good Morning," she said, sitting at the fourth chair at the table. Her parents stared at her, surprised to see her but Snape inclined his head.

"Good Morning, Miss Granger," he said and went back to the potions text in front of him.

"I thought that I'd give this place a good cleaning today," Hermione continued, scooping some eggs onto her plate and taking a few strips of bacon. "So if there is anything particular you'd like done, just let me know."

"I'll help you," her mother said, standing up and taking her apron off. "I'm tired of cooking."

They ate quietly. Mr. Granger hadn't said much in the last few days. They could all tell he hated being cooped up. They couldn't even go out into the yard, assuming there was one. There were windows but the charm kept them from really being able to see what was outside. It let in light so at least it wasn't like the quarantine. At least Hermione didn't feel like she was living in a cave again… or dungeons. Snape was used to it though and hated the morning light coming into his room. He charmed his room dark the first moment he'd gotten there.

Snape spent the days locked in his dark room avoiding the Grangers. When Hermione had refused to leave her bed, he'd had nothing to do out in the rest of the house. The elves had at least sent all his potions notes and journals so he'd been working on something he'd been too busy to do for a long time – writing up articles on all of his various research notes for several potions journals who'd requested things from him. It was enough work to keep him occupied for months.

After breakfast, he cleaned the kitchen with a wave of his wand and went up stairs to get started on his work and maybe take a short nap if he had trouble concentrating. He hadn't slept much the last few days, after all. He could hear Hermione and her mother discussing strategies for cleaning. He was glad she had found herself a project but, personally, he didn't want any part of it. He shut his bedroom door with a soft click.

oooo

"I haven't seen any cleaning supplies and I've looked in most every cupboard, I think," her mother said, looking at her daughter. Frankly, Jane Granger hardly recognized Hermione as belonging to her at all anymore. She wasn't a child – she was curvaceous if still a little underweight but that was to be expected with the sickness. When Jane was Hermione's age, she was still living at home wondering what she would do with her life. Hermione had already survived so much. She was so mature. She was not a little girl anymore but a woman with wild hair in a mockery of a child's school uniform.

"Well, the easiest way is just for me to do everything magically," Hermione said, sounding a little regretful. She wanted to spend time with her mother and was grateful she offered to help, but her mother couldn't even turn on a light in the house. She couldn't help either.

"I'm tired – sick and tired of magic," her mother said, sitting down primly on the sofa in the living room. "I hate to be so useless."

"Let's do everything the Muggle way, then," Hermione said. "It will take longer and we can do it together. Lord knows we need something to fill up the days." Her mother smiled at her for she knew her daughter was just saying it to appease her but she wasn't above accepting.

"Let's do," her mother said and watched as Hermione muttered a few spells and buckets of hot water and suds appeared along with dust rags and bottles of ammonia.

"It's not brand name but it's the best that I can do," she said.

"It's fine," her mother said, smiling. "At least it isn't food."

oooo

The sun had set by the time the women had cleaned most everything they could get their hands on. The only things left were the Granger's room where Mr. Granger had holed him self up and Snape's room where he had done the same.

"I think I'll make myself a snack and then head off to bed," Mrs. Granger said, tiredly. Hermione followed her mother into the kitchen and watched her pull some left over soup from the pantry. "Would you?" she asked and Hermione nodded and tapped her wand against the bowl. The soup inside began to steam and her mother kissed her cheek, took the bowl, and went upstairs. Hermione looked around in the pantry trying to decide if she was hungry. She ate an apple slowly, deep in thought. She was contemplating her next move, carefully. Finally, she disposed of the core and went upstairs.

Severus answered his door after only a slight pause and he looked rumpled and tired.

"Do you want me to clean your room?" she said, softly. He regarded her for a moment before stepping back and allowing her entrance into the room. There were papers everywhere – covering his desk. There were a few candles lighting the place but mostly it was dark. His fingers were stained with ink – black this time, instead of the red he used for grading. It always made his fingers look bloody. Now they stood in the dark room with the black ink and the rumpled bed.

"You didn't bring any of your Muggle cleaning supplies," he pointed out. It was a shoddy excuse to get into his room, they both knew. He could clean with his wand just as well as she could.

"I didn't really come to clean," she said, though her cheeks colored as she said it. He raised an eyebrow and walked towards her until he was close enough to put his hand on her cheek. She closed her eyes.

"I thought we decided not to do this," he said.

"That was then. I'd say the situation has changed drastically," Hermione argued.

"Desperate times, desperate measures," he murmured and leaned down and kissed her cheek. She held her breath while his lips traced her cheekbone down to behind her ear, blazed a trail along her neck and reached their final destination against her own lips.

From there it seemed to move quickly before time slowed to include just the two of them. Clothing was removed; the bed linens were pushed to the floor. Snape placed a silencing charm on the room and turned his attention back to the now nude woman in his bed. She looked a little frightened, and though she had not said as much, he was certain that what they were about to do was her first time. He realized part of her nerves probably had to do with the fact that he still had his pants on, even though they were rumpled and the clasp was open. He pushed them down off his hips and she blushed more when she saw he wore nothing underneath. Underwear, while no longer a Muggle thing, wasn't really acknowledged in the older wizarding family. He was raised without it and though he had underwear, he rarely wore it.

But there were more important things to contemplate now.

He smiled at her and she smiled back, tentatively.

"It's going to hurt at first," he said sliding onto the bed next to her. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"A little pain is okay," she said. He laughed out loud, throwing his head back.

"That's the Slytherin in you," he said, reaching out and pushing her hair out of her eyes. She leaned into to his touch, closing her eyes. Emboldened, he let his hand wander down her neck, to her bare breasts. Soon, his other hand moved south and met her woman hood. From there, it was instinct, evolution. Snape was practiced but no expert. Hermione had never done anything of the sort, and yet their bodies moved in a familiar rhythm, as ancient as magic its self. Two people coming together, born again as one.

oooo

Morning came, as it did every day. Hermione was an early riser but Snape was already working at his desk, his quill scratching out angry letters, his shoulders hunched – his white skin gleamed in the early light. He was sweating, shaking, his breathing was loud and it was what woke her.

"Severus?" she asked, sitting up and wrapping the bed sheet around her modestly.

He grunted but did not look at her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The end is nigh," he said philosophically, sarcastically. Maybe even a bit sadly. "I'm being summoned," he explained more patiently.

"He hasn't summoned you before?" she asked, crawling out of bed and pulling on enough clothes to feel comfortable.

"Oh, he always summons me. A slow and constant burn but it has escalated somewhat in the night," he said, extending his left arm for her to see. The dark mark had gone from black to red – the burning was so deep that his skin hissed and bubbled in wet blisters. She gasped and reached out but he jerked his arm away. "The final battle approaches, Hermione; he is calling in his army."

"Are we really expected to just sit here?" she asked, angry tears welling in her eyes. She was angry that he was in pain, angry at her helplessness, angry that she wasn't able to wake up in his arms as cliché as it was. She had wanted that.

"I don't know," he said. Suddenly, out of place in the muted tones of a house still asleep, they heard a bang downstairs. It made Hermione jump but Snape merely raised his head in acknowledgment. Hermione scurried into the rest of her clothes and opened the door. She went to the landing of the stairs and saw Harry Potter standing at the bottom.

"It's time," he said, somberly and apologetically.

"I know," she whispered. Snape appeared behind her with her cloak and her wand, fully dressed.

"Come on, then," Harry said. They started downstairs.

"What about Mum and Dad?" she asked, looking at the closed door down the hair that was disappearing as she descended.

"Better this way," Snape said. Harry waited beside the open front door and for the first time Hermione could see the yard and forest that lay beyond. On the front stoop, Snape closed the door.

"Hogwarts?" he asked Harry, who nodded. They apparated away with a pop and when they arrived, Harry started jogging toward the castle. It became obvious to Hermione that the battle had already begun and that Harry couldn't really be spared, especially to retrieve them but he was the only one who could. Snape moved quickly to follow.

"Severus!" she called and he paused, looking back at her. "I love you." But he shook his head.

"Don't say goodbye," he reprimanded. "Come on, there isn't time to lose." He started walking again, his robes billowing behind him. What could she do but follow? She gripped her wand tightly and walked toward the castle.


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione had spent a great deal of time imagining how the final battle would be. She liked to exhaust all avenues of possibility, even if it was just within the confines of her imagination. The final scenario would be Harry and Voldemort in the middle and the order and the death eaters surrounding them, trying to get closer and/or fend off people from reaching that center. When Hermione made it to the top of the knoll, the field between the lake and the castle came into view; she felt a small jolt of satisfaction somewhere deep within to see that she had, more or less, been right. Harry and Dumbledore stood side by side closest to Hogwarts. Harry was firing spells and Dumbledore just stood, waiting. He must have been casting some sort of shielding charm because no spell could touch him. She saw Severus moving toward them and the air around Harry and Dumbledore glimmered as Snape passed through.

Voldemort, upon seeing Snape, raised one hand and the death eaters ceased their movement. Dumbledore nodded and the order members did the same. Hermione had thought, however, that this would have happened not during the summer months but at school when Voldemort could hurt the most people but the only students were Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. She imagined, though, that Draco was in there somewhere, sneering behind his uniform silver mask.

"Severus, how you've disappointed me," Voldemort said into the early morning. There was still dew on the grass though the lake was beginning to steam with heat. This wouldn't be a pleasant day. "I knew you were working for both sides but I had such hopes that you would choose us in the end."

Snape merely nodded his head toward Dumbledore, as if to say the choice was obvious.

"I will take great delight in murdering you," Voldemort continued. Severus shrugged, uninterestedly.

"Tom, you are not here about Severus," Dumbledore said, resting his bony hands on Harry's shoulders. "You've come for Harry, have you not?"

Hermione could feel the tears rise in her throat as Dumbledore gave Harry up to his destiny. She moved silently down the hill toward the group.

"Potter's time will come soon enough," Voldemort said. His red eyes turned and focused on Hermione who was now only a few feet behind Severus, having woven herself between aurors to get to him. "Oh, Severus, is this the reason you betrayed me so? She's not even pretty, is she?" Harry glared and pushed up against the shielding charm.

"Let me out," he said, his voice deep. Dumbledore looked at him – they locked eyes for what seemed like long minutes. Finally, Dumbledore nodded and lowered the charm for Harry to exit. He stepped out, Hermione stepped in. Harry walked bravely up to Voldemort. The dark lord leaned down and said something softly, something only Harry could hear. Harry nodded, once, as if it pained him to agree with such a monster. They both raised their wands and disappeared. Hermione screamed.

"Miss Granger, this is not our fight to fight," Dumbledore said, resting his hand on her shoulder. His voice silenced her. "This is a battle, yes, but for two men, not an army." With that, the shield was dropped and he turned to walk inside. The death eaters, realizing that without Voldemort there was no fight, began to flee toward the forbidden forest. The aurors leapt to action and started stunning them. Hermione, still crying, let herself be led to safety by Snape who left her in the Great Hall to go to the headmaster's office.

oooo

Seven days passed before Harry returned and in those days was a heavy, dire silence. Whatever level of comfort Hermione had achieved for herself in the castled plummeted surly back to zero. She felt like a defeated first year, tiptoeing around corners, losing her way, forgetting to eat, losing herself in books so she didn't have to face reality alone like this. She did not go see Severus.

Though, Severus did not come to see her, either. In fact, no one went to see anyone really. It was as if everyone was holding their breath until Harry (or some part of him) returned. Everyone spoke in muted whispers; Hermione took her meals in her room. Madame Pomfrey had patched everyone up and those who had been cursed more severely were at St. Mungo's. The castle was unharmed. Hermione always imagined that there would be more to do afterward, more pieces to pick up but no one really knew what had happened.

On the fifth day, Hermione in her old grey sweater again and a pair of running shorts – barefoot – was making her way toward the kitchens at nearly four in the morning from her rooms when she heard Snape's voice down the hall.

"Nothing yet, headmaster," he was saying. "I believe I will know if and when something fatal happens."

"They are still fighting, then," This was Dumbledore, sounding his age. Hermione had paused just around the corner and held her breath until she heard their footsteps receding. No longer hungry, she returned to her rooms.

oooo

Hermione went to breakfast on the seventh day. She received an owl from Professor McGonagall that stated, while not openly, that if she didn't start leaving her room, someone would come and drag her out. That was the gist, anyway. She put on the same clothes she'd been wearing for the last few days, a t-shirt that she'd spilled pumpkin juice on, the stain still visible, and her blue jeans with the holes in the knees, and her grey sweater which seriously needed a wash. She sprayed some lavender perfume over herself (a subtle fragrance, not like the eye-watering perfume Lavender herself wore) and found her shoes and went to the great hall for breakfast.

It was quiet. Generally, during holidays, there would be only one or two tables set up and the faculty and students would eat their meals together. However, the Great hall was set up as it would be during the school year and so Hermione nodded to the professors sitting at the high table and sat alone at the far end of the Gryffindor table. She ate a bowl of oatmeal and a corner of toast. The Daily Prophet came and so she set about doing the crossword puzzle (the letters fell off the page if she wrote the wrong word, it was rather convenient) while she finished her Pumpkin juice. Her hair was long enough to pull back now and so she had, but pieces of it still fell out of her tiny ponytail and obstructed her view.

She jumped when Hagrid burst into the Great hall and it took her valuable seconds to realize what he head in his arms.

"Harry!" she screamed, recognizing his form before her mind had even fully processed the situation. She stood and met Hagrid in the middle of the room. The professors rushed down.

"Is he alive?" asked Dumbledore, because it had to be asked. Hagrid just nodded, his face covered with tears. There was a flurry of activity and Hermione was pushed to the back of the crowd. They took him to the infirmary and Hermione just watched him disappear. Did it mean that Voldemort was defeated? Why hadn't Snape said anything? She looked up to his seat at the high table but he was already gone.

Harry wouldn't talk about what happened when he woke up. Not to Hermione or Dumbledore or even Ron, who gone home with his sister earlier in the week but came back when Hermione owled.

"Voldemort is gone, isn't that what you wanted?" Harry said to them, pushing his way out of the bed and pulling on his robe, angrily. "It's done." And so they'd left him alone.

After dinner, she went to his rooms and knocked. It took him awhile to come to the portrait but he answered looking tired and looking like he'd been crying.

"What is it, Hermione?" he asked.

"I know you've been through a lot Harry, but my parents are still in that house and you are the only one who can release the charm," she said, whispered, apologetically. It was late, and the days were getting shorter. The hall was lit by a few sporadic sconces but neither bothered to light their wand. Harry's eyes widened.

"Oy, I forgot!" he said, stepping back to let her in. "Sorry, Hermione!"

"It's okay," She said, and watched him write an address on a piece of paper.

"Here you go," he said. "Now that you know, you can floo there, too." She hugged him (rather impulsively because Hermione, an only child, had always been very protective of her personal space and always very respectful of the personal space of others) and he stiffly returned the hug.

"I'm glad you're alive, Harry," she said. He shrugged. It was a frank statement, but one she felt needed to be said. She was glad that he didn't die. She was glad that for their last year of Hogwarts, she and Harry and Ron would be together, just like the first. She wanted to come full circle.

In the morning, without telling anyone, she flooed to the safe house and then helped her parents floo home. The house was devastated and she wept as she helped them put it back together. Within a few days, her Hogwarts letter came but there was no mention of her absence at the castle. For that, she was grateful. Inside the letter, also, was her head girl badge and brief instructions of what she was to do on the train and what to do upon arriving to the Hogsmeade train station. She looked for any sign of something out of the ordinary, some sign of Severus but the only thing she could find was the title of his NEWT level potions text and that would have been there no matter what.

oooo

Platform nine and three quarters was filled with children and steam from the engine. She halfheartedly herded frightened looking first years onto the train and made sure chaos didn't completely ensue. Word of Voldemort's defeat had spread quickly and everyone was in high spirits. Hermione wished she could be happy too. She wished she could sit in a compartment with Ron and Harry and maybe Ginny or Neville but Harry was not on the train and Ron, much like herself, had prefect duties and Ginny was, most probably, the most popular girl in her year and therefore never alone in a compartment.

The head boy was from Ravenclaw, Andrew, but she only knew him from Prefect meetings and from Ancient Runes class. They hadn't spoken much – he was quiet and she was always off doing some project for herself or for Harry. Hermione was never one to waste time socializing. Now, she shook his hand and introduced herself again. He looked at her strangely, and she realized that everyone knew who she was. They patrolled the cars together, speaking very little.

"Hermione?" Andrew asked, finally, when they had gone back to the prefects carriage to change into their school things.

"Yes?" she asked, opening her small bag. All of her things were already there, after all.

"I don't know why they made me head boy," he blurted out, finally, after she'd stared him out of his silence.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "You've been a good prefect, make the best marks, and reliable."

"Yes but, why didn't they make Harry head boy?" he asked.

"Andrew, Harry isn't even a prefect!" she laughed.

"Yes, but he…"

"You were the best choice, obviously. Harry had his life laid out for him from the time he was a baby. If I were you, I'd be grateful I didn't have to live my life like that," she snapped. He didn't ask anymore questions.

Everyone changed. The train slowed and stopped. Outside, it rained the first rain of the new season. She had decided that she didn't like Hogwarts in the summer time after all. She wanted to put the last year behind her – the cancer, the war, and maybe even the love affair. She missed Severus, missed him so much she felt as if she weren't getting enough air, but what could they do? They would have to wait and Hermione feared that in a year of waiting he would grow tired of her. Her hopes were not high.

Hagrid hugged her when he spotted her but he said nothing of her fleeing the castle. She stepped back and helped him point the first years to the boats waiting to take them across the tumultuous lake. When the last first year was in a boat, she looked toward the carriages already filling up with students. The carriages that had once been horseless. Now, the thestrals beat their hooves in the mud, anxious to get out of the rain. She climbed into the one in the back of the line that was beginning to move toward the castle and inside were a few second year Slytherins. They didn't look smug or superior; in fact, they looked uncomfortable at the sight of the head girl. Hermione decided to say nothing to them and she rode the bumpy, wet road to the castle staring out the window, steeling herself, preparing herself to see Severus at the high table, sneering down at her.


	13. Chapter 13

Inside the castle was warm and cheerful. The great hall roared with talking and laughter. She saw Harry already seated at the Gryffindor table next to Ron and across from Ginny. He waved and smiled and motioned her over but she pointed to her Head Girl badge and he gave her two thumbs up and resumed his conversation – most likely on Quidditch.

She looked up to the high table to see each of the chairs filled. All the air rushed from her lungs when she saw Severus. He was looking right at her, staring at her and when their eyes met, he gave her a nod. She breathed in and nodded back. She couldn't help but smile, too, because his eyes looked kindly upon her. He pointed at her and she furrowed her eyebrows. It took her a second to realize that he was pointing behind her, to the line of first years coming into the great hall. Most were shivering and soggy but a few of the bright ones had already taken out their wands and dried themselves off some.

Professor McGonagall appeared with the sorting hat, and said her spiel. Its song was one of peace though, admittedly, Hermione didn't pay much attention. She was trying to catch Snape's gaze again without anyone noticing. He didn't look at the Gryffindor table again. Soon the sorting started and she clapped when students were put in Gryffindor. They ate and then, finally, Dumbledore stood.

"We have much to celebrate," he said, his voice loud and wise. Everyone clapped and cheered. "The wizarding world is safe from the death and violence that has plagued it for some seven years. I think we all owe more than our thanks to Harry Potter." Everyone clapped and Harry, blushing, stared into his lap. He had still not told his story. "Our Head boy this year is Andrew Stonybrook, from Ravenclaw, and our Head girl is Hermione Granger, from Gryffindor. I trust you will all give them the respect they deserve." He went on to tell the rules (the Forbidden forest was still forbidden) and introduce the staff (Severus Snape, Potions master and head of Slytherin) and then she was telling the prefects the passwords and the first years were being ushered off to their common rooms while the other students took their time getting there. Hermione went up to the high table, hoping to catch Snape but he was gone, again. The silence between them would kill her.

oooo

Hermione, now used to having her own room, was glad the head girl received her own quarters. She had assumed, blithely, that each house had quarters for a head boy and girl since Percy had always appeared so fast when he was head boy, but instead Dumbledore led them down the same hallway as his office. They stopped in front of the great gargoyle.

"Here we are, then," Dumbledore said, happily.

"Your office?" asked Andrew. Dumbledore pointed to a portrait of a knight to the left of the gargoyle and a portrait of a dancer to the right. It wasn't that Hermione hadn't noticed the pictures before, it was just that she'd never given them any thought. It made sense, though. As head boy and girl, they were rather above having a house. They were representative of the entire student body.

Dumbledore led them through the knight portrait. Hermione wondered if all portraits of a certain size led into rooms. Dumbledore pointed out a bedroom and a small desk area, a fire place and two doors.

"On the left, you'll find a bathroom. On the right, if you tap your wand three times on this stone," he pointed to a stone, "and say whatever house's common room, it will lead you right there," he pointed out. It all made sense now.

"How convenient," murmured Hermione. "What about other areas of the castle?" Dumbledore smiled benignly at her.

"Some places, yes. Others, no," he said. "But I've got to be off and you both have work to do as well. You know how to set the password?" They both nodded yes, they'd been taught that as prefects. Left alone, Andrew looked at her.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked. At first, she didn't understand the question. Then she realizing that being the head boy was probably the most exciting, frightening thing he had endured thus far. She was one of Harry Potter's best friends. She had found the department of mysteries, fought death eaters, come face to face with Voldemort… she had bed Severus Snape! Head Girl, to Hermione, was simply a forgone conclusion.

"You'll be just fine." she assured him. She left his portrait, reset her password as "Restricted Section" and entered, pleased to find all her possessions, already put in their places. She liked order. She looked at the two doors. She wondered. Walking up to it, she tapped the stone three times and said, "The Library." She pulled the door open and saw rows and rows of books. She smiled, closing the door. She repeated her actions and said, "The great hall." The door didn't open; perhaps it was too public of place. Tapping three more times, she took a deep breath and said, "Snape's rooms." the door didn't open but it did crack open when she called for the potions classroom. The room was dark and still and she couldn't tell if she felt relieved or disappointed. Finally, she called for the Gryffindor Common room and went to meet her friends.

oooo

Potions class was really no different except for that she was without Ron and Neville who had not made it into the NEWT level. Harry had scraped by. She sat nervously in her same seat, second row from the front. Part of her wanted to move up a row, and another part wanted to sit in the very back, on the shadowy, Slytherin side. Instead, she chose her usual seat, knowing it was best to act normal even if her heart was beating wildly at the thought of him banging into the classroom and barking instructions in the same, hoarse tone he had groaned her name.

She wanted very much to see him, to talk to him, to ask him what he was thinking, what he felt about her. Why had they kept such a distance? She knew the answer to that. Before, she had been sick and it was okay and then they were in the safe house together and it was okay but now she was healthy and a student and anything they did outside of the student-teacher relationship was simply not okay. She could be expelled. He could be fired. It wasn't worth that was it?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Snape's office door opening and the room falling to silence. After seven years, these students knew how to behave in Snape's class. He stalked to the front of the classroom and turned around. The students stared back at him. Hermione hoped her gaze was even, although she felt there was a circus within her chest. He looked at her but did not smile or glare.

"Most of you will drop out of this class before the end of term," he said.

Potions class had begun.

Before too long, they were brewing. Hermione sat beside Harry now that she was not saddled with Neville any longer. He had come in moments before Snape and was mostly silent through class. They were a good pair. He was decent in potions when he wasn't seething with anger toward Snape all the time. They seemed almost cordial toward one another – in that they ignored each other instead of picking fights all the time. She wondered about that. She could hear Snape's boots on the stone floor. He was making his rounds, checking on everyone's progress. He felt his robes brush her fingers as he walked by, but he did not stop. The smell of him nearly unraveled her. Her eyes brimmed with tears, suddenly. She wanted what they had back.

Harry, having looked up as Snape walked by, saw how red in the face Hermione had begun. He knew when she was holding back tears. He wasn't sure what had conspired between Snape and Hermione but he reached out and gave her hand a squeeze anyway.

After class, Hermione claimed to have left her quill and ran back to get it. Snape was standing in the room, examining vials of potions against the candlelight. He turned when she opened the door and nodded.

"Miss Granger," he said, softly.

"I left my quill," she said, walking over to the desk.

"Did you really?" he asked.

"No," she said. "But I was going to conjure one all the same. Are you… I mean, how do you feel?" she asked. Her words stumbled over each other.

"After the defeat of Voldemort?" he supplied. She nodded. He looked over her shoulder, making sure none of his next class was straggling in early. He deftly rolled his left sleeve and presented to her his dark mark. It was still there, the lines visible, but it was definitely fading. Grey, not black.

"It's going away?" she asked.

"I suspect my body is healing," he said. "The magic that held it there, Voldemort's magic, is gone." He was free, in a sense, to some degree.

"I'm glad," she said. "Severus, I'm sorry that I…" She trailed off. "I'm sorry." He nodded.

"Things did not go as I would have hoped," he said. "Then again, you've already given me more than I've hoped for." She smiled, and stepped toward him. He held up his hand and stepped back. "Back to normal, Miss Granger. We must go back to normal," he said, in that same hoarse voice. What could she do but agree?

"I know, but I miss you," she said. He said nothing, but handed her a quill from his desk so that she didn't have to lie to Harry or make one of her own. She took it.

oooo

She officially came of age September 19th and expected nothing because she didn't mention her birthday and in the past, nothing major had ever been done. When she went down to breakfast, Ginny had bewitched a banner to the wall between the two windows that read, "Happy Birthday, Hermione!" and it roared when she walked into the room.

"Thank you," she said, sitting down between Harry and Ron. She glanced up at the high table but Snape rarely came to breakfast and she imagined he didn't know it was her birthday anyhow. When the food appeared, Harry stuck a few candles into her stack of pancakes and lit them with his wand. The first time he had done this, most people had stared at him like he'd lost his mind but both Harry and Hermione had grown up Muggle and she liked to blow out the candles and make a wish. She sucked the syrup off the bottom of them and flicked the bits of wax of her food with her fork tines.

Later, after all her classes and a few gifts from friends (mostly candy), she finally went back to her room. She set her heavy shoulder bag on the chair near the fire place and went to throw her self down on the bed. She paused, though, as there was an interruption of color across her bedspread which was uniform in its purple serenity. There were flowers there, well, three flowers, white roses if she wanted to be precise. They were long stemmed with the thorns removed and she was unsure how long they had been there, but they still looked freshly cut and close to them, she could smell their delicate fragrance. She picked them up and smiled. There was a note underneath and so she set the roses on her bedside table and opened the blank envelope. There was a drop of wax on the back, red wax, but no seal. Inside, Snape's spiky handwriting was all over the page. Her name was at the top. He had written her a letter. She sat down on the foot of her bed, to read.

_Hermione,_

You suspected I would not know, but how could I not be aware that today you have become fully yourself? And so, to get formalities out of the way, Happy Birthday. Now, to also get this out of the way, I apologize as to how things have been lately. Perhaps I was too harsh the other night, too harsh when I told you things were to be strictly back to normal. That is impossible for to me, nothing about you is normal in the sense of a student or in the sense of a woman. I do not deal with people directly unless forced but for some reason, I see you when I close my eyes and it makes me wish I could always be sleeping, and often blink.

Regardless, the rules have not changed and so I propose this: correspondence. As I cannot see you outside of class or the duties you hold as head girl, I think that letters are not wholly out of the realm of possibility. I want to speak with you and this is the only way. Please keep me in your life, Hermione, no matter what comes.

Affectionately,

S.S.

She put the letter down, slightly awed. She had been so confused, so hurt since the end of the battle and since Harry's return about what had happened and what would happen between them but now she had proof that he did care for her as she cared for him. She put the flowers in a vase on her night stand and the note under her pillow. She wanted to rush to the dungeons now and throw her arms around his neck but the letter made it clear that if they were to stay 'together' in any sense, that it was to be through the written word.

Her first instinct was to write him back directly. To tear open her book bag and find her quills and ink and parchment and pour out her heart to him but instead she waited. She would sleep on it – both figuratively and literally. She kept the note under her pillow as she slept – listening to the slight crinkle of the paper as she moved her head restlessly. When she woke the paper was no longer smooth or crisp. It was laced with minute wrinkles. The words were still clear and she felt more clear herself. She rose, dressed, packed her things and slid the letter in between two large books on the upper most shelf of her bookcase.

She had trouble paying attention with the level of precise focus she was used to in her classes. She didn't have potions that day and she was glad. She was distracted because she was crafting her response in her head. Her last class first the day was History of Magic and for the first time she, like every other student, set down her quill after the first five minutes and let her mind wander. Before she knew it, the bells were thundering just above them and everyone was gathering their things and hurrying down to the last meal of the day. Hermione went because she was expected to but she ate very little and spoke even less. Snape ate his dinner in much the same way – neither looked up and both retired early. She felt she could relax only when she was shut up alone in her room. She took off her shoes, her robes, her tie. She sat at the desk and carefully, with great intention, smoothed out a roll of parchment and spent minutes sharpening the nub of her favorite quill to perfection. She chose black ink because he had chosen the same. Finally, with certainty of mind and hand, she began.

_Severus-_

I accept your proposal of correspondence, though I admit I was surprised to receive such a personal gift from you. I do think of a letter as a gift (although the roses were much appreciated and very beautiful) and I think that letter writing is a lost art. Perhaps not so much in the magical world but it definitely is where I come from. Even still, people who are in the same building do no often speak to one another through the written word. And so, now that I have accepted, the letter writing can commence. Were I to be with you this warm, autumn evening, I would sit beside you with tea and ask you about your day. I would tuck my feet beneath me (as the stone floors of the dungeons chill me) and rest my head against your shoulder. I would let the warm timbre of your voice lull me to sleep.

I worry about Harry. He doesn't speak. Do you know what happened? Are you truly safe now, or should I worry about you as well? Think of me while you sleep.

Hermione

She changed into casual clothes and put her outer robes back on. It was time for her night patrol. She and Andrew rarely ever did anything together. When Hermione patrolled, Andrew got the night off. The halls were deserted except for the occasional prefect and one or two staff members. Hermione had never come across Snape during her patrols so she assumed that he had arranged it to patrol on Andrew's nights only. However, Andrew had patrolled for her on her birthday and so tonight was not regularly her night.

Walking past the hourglasses in the front hall (the gemstones were still for the night), Hermione saw him out of the corner of her eye. He thought she was a student at first, she could tell by the way he spun around to face her so abruptly.

"Professor," she said. "Just doing my rounds."

"Miss Granger," he greeted. "Carry on, then."

"I have something here for you," she said, pulling the letter from her robes. She extended it toward him. He stared at it in her small hand. "Would you rather I owl it to you?" she asked. This snapped him out of it and he took the note; tucked it away. They parted and Hermione skived off the rest of her patrol, opting for bed.


	14. Chapter 14

Snape felt a surge of relief looking at the letter in his hand, later in his rooms. He was afraid she wouldn't have written back – afraid she would have had enough of him and his cruel ways. Instead, she had embraced this idea.

There was a knock on his door and he knew the only person who would call on him that late was Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore didn't wait to be invited in but pushed his way past the door anyway.

"Good evening," Dumbledore said, sitting down next to Snape on the couch. "What's that?"

"A letter from Miss Granger," Snape said, not bothering to lie uselessly.

"You spent a lot of time with her this past year," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Yes," he agreed.

"You love her," Dumbledore said.

"Yes," Snape said, after a pause. "But I know the rules."

"I know you do, I trust you," Dumbledore said. "Though I wonder now what you will do when this year is up? You no longer need my protection – the protection of the castle." With that seed planted, Dumbledore left Snape alone with his thoughts.

oooo

Hermione bought a wooden box with a magical lock during the first Hogsmeade weekend to put Snape's letters in since the collection had outgrown her bookshelf. At Christmas vacation, Hermione received a letter from her parents saying they were going on holiday and wondered if Hermione would mind staying in the castle for the holidays. Hermione was glad to be staying at Hogwarts and even declined an invitation to the Burrow, wanting a quiet holiday.

The castle was more deserted than any other Christmas she'd seen. It was, after all, the first Christmas without the threat of Voldemort. There were two other Slytherins and Hermione herself. Professor McGonagall had tried to convince Hermione to go to the Burrow, to get out of the castle! But Hermione remained firm. With Voldemort gone, the rules – especially during holidays – were some what lax. Hermione could go to town every day if she wanted to. She could go play in the snow, she could sit by the roaring fire in the library all day, she could stay in her room, she could run screaming down the halls of the castle.

She could not, would not, go to the dungeons though. She would stay away from him because they were doing so well. Snape had hinted in one of his letters that Dumbledore was aware of the true nature of their relationship and that they should not tempt him into any action. They should not give him any reason to suspect they were breaking any serious rules. They should not be alone in the dungeons together when hardly anyone was about in the castle, even if it was platonic.

Hermione knew she could never be in a room alone with Snape and keep it platonic. She missed him. She ached for him. She dreamt of him. She got aroused by the sight of his handwriting (and this made Potions class quite uncomfortable). Perhaps this was why McGonagall was so insistent about Hermione leaving. Maybe she knew it would be hard to resist Snape with fewer eyes watching. Did everyone know about their affair? She shook the thought out of her mind. So what if they did? She wouldn't break the rules.

On Christmas Eve, Dumbledore made it quite clear that everyone was to come to a proper holiday dinner. She decided that it wouldn't be that bad. Snape assured her (via writing of course) that they could simply ignore one another and the dinner would be delicious and swift. He always sounded so sure of him self and made it seem so easy. Hermione knew what was easy – things had come easy to her for her entire life and this, she knew, was not easy. Still, when the night came, she put on one of her nicer set of dress robes (modest yet flattering) and clipped back her hair and went to dinner.

She was early, only McGonagall was there. There were only place settings at the high table and McGonagall motioned her up onto the platform and patted the seat next to her.

"Nice to have you, Miss Granger," she said. "Happy Christmas."

"And to you, Professor," she said.

"Have you any plans for tomorrow?" McGonagall asked, pointedly. Truthfully, she did not and so she shook her head, folding her napkin neatly into her lap.

"I'll just have to see where the day takes me," she said. McGonagall looked as if she would like to say more but the rest of the castle's inhabitants began to trickle into the room until every seat but one was filled.

"Severus, of course, is late," said Professor Sprout a little stiffly. She and Snape had a love-hate relationship. Snape didn't care much for Hufflepuffs but needed the Herbology Professor's flourishing greenhouse for his potion stores. They waited for a few minutes but a timid house elf came in to inform Dumbledore that the meal was ready and so they started. It wasn't but a few minutes until Snape appeared and slid silently into his seat at the end of the table, five seats away from Hermione. The high table looked out upon the huge, empty great hall. She wished at least the table they sat at was round so she could hear conversations better; so she could watch Snape while he ate. She so rarely physically got to see him – she valued meal times. But it wasn't so and so she ate and even accepted the glass of wine Professor Sinestra offered her (she was of age in wizarding U.K., if not Muggle) and drank it in warm mouthfuls, letting the alcohol color her chest and cheeks. After a desert of, what else, plum pudding, the dishes were cleared and she felt for the thin box she'd slipped into her robes and decided to go to the bowels of the castle.

Snape had left the meal as quietly as he'd arrived and so she knew she would be hot on his trail. It had been a while since she'd ventured passed the potions classroom and the familiar smell of the moist stones filled her with an acute sense of nostalgia. She passed the small, sparse room that had once been hers and crept past his office to the portrait that led to his chambers. She knocked though she knew the password – or what it had once been.

He answered, coming to the door instead of calling for her entrance, a sign he wanted to be left alone. But his hard face relaxed when he saw her.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, stepping back to let her in. She smiled at him and stepped in.

"It's Christmas," she said, trying to reason. "Exceptions ought to be made for holidays."

"Perhaps," he murmured.

"Did I interrupt you?" she asked, looking at his disheveled person, the glass of whiskey in his hand, catching the light of the fire.

"I was just writing a letter," he said. "But since you are here, I might as well give you your gift in person."

"I brought yours as well," she said. "May I go first?"

"By all means," he said, sitting down on the sofa. She sat next to him, careful not to touch him, to not place her body too closely to his. She pulled a long, skinny box from her pocket. He took it and, looking at her curiously, removed the red paper. Inside the box was a quill.

"To replace the one you gave to me," she explained.

"This is not any quill, Hermione," he said. "This is…"

"Dragon," she confirmed. "It will last you a lifetime and the ink is internal and easy to fill, so there won't be any mess," she said, reciting the brochure that had come with the purchase.

"I appreciate this," he said.

"I filled it with red ink," she added. "I thought it was more your style." He smiled and reached out, touched her hand. She froze, looked at his skin against her. It hurt to look at knowing she couldn't stay. She regretted the days she wasted – days she could have spent time with him while sick or in the safe house. He cleared his throat and pulled his hand back.

"Maybe you should go to bed, Hermione. Your gift will be there in the morning," he was sending her away now to save them both.

"Can't we just sit her for a few more minutes?" she asked, desperately.

"I'm doing this for you," Snape said.

"And I for you," she agreed, but the irony didn't hit her as funny. "But I'll go."

"Wait," he said, rising and walking to the desk. He rummaged in one of the drawers for a moment before he took something out and handed it to her. "Happy Christmas." She took the box and opened it. Inside, on a piece of black silk, was a ring. It was gold with a small, square cut diamond.

"Oh," she said. "Oh." She took it out and held it in her palm.

"I'm not asking you anything…" he said. "But I wanted to give you something to show my devotion and I hope that when you wear it you will show me yours."

She put it on her ring finger.

"What will I say if someone asks?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Tell them that you're devoted," he said. She looked at the jewelry sparkle in the light from the flames. She leaned up, perhaps negating all of their hard work, and pressed her mouth to his.

oooo

A strange thing happened next. Harry did not return from the burrow on the Hogwarts Express. In fact, the Weasleys told Dumbledore that somewhere between going to bed and waking up to pack for the train, Harry disappeared. By the time everyone was tucking into dinner, Dumbledore had left the castle to look for him, putting Minerva McGonagall in charge. That meant the Snape moved up to fill the position of assistant headmaster for an undetermined amount of time. McGonagall had assured Ron and Hermione that Dumbledore believed Harry was in no danger but had made a hasty choice to flee the return to school and the constant barrage of questions about that fateful battle with Voldemort.

So, class went on while Dumbledore went to find the boy who lived. But the castle was never at ease with Dumbledore absent. No one could match his power, and though the threat of Lord Voldemort had been neutralized, having both Harry and Dumbledore gone was unsettling. People did not linger in the halls and it seemed like someone was always tugging at Hermione, wanting her reassurance as head girl. She passed Andrew in the halls and he looked tired and stressed.

Snape announced that the Hogsmeade trip for that weekend would be postponed. Everyone grumbled but no one seemed surprised. Fights began to breakout in the Slytherin common room and the Ravenclaws didn't talk to one another, focusing on their inner house competition – everyone always fighting for head of the class. The Hufflepuffs always relied on the other houses to set the tone of the school and so they walked around looking confused and abandoned with their ties askew – forgetting to bring their books to class. As for the Gryffindors, they seemed to take it the worst. With the loss of their poster boy, they lost their good cheer as well. Their common room was quiet and desolate. Hermione didn't like to spend time there anymore.

On the seventh day, Hermione really expected Harry and Dumbledore to return but the day passed uneventful, especially for a Friday. Both Andrew and Hermione wandered the castle on patrol that night – they'd been pulling double duty for a while now. When the bells chimed midnight, Hermione felt as if her hopes had been dashed for Harry's return, and so she sat down on the steps in the front hall and pet her head against her knees, letting the tears leak down her face.

"Hello." The voice lifted her head and she looked at Snape who stood before her through the water in her eyes.

"Hello," she whispered.

"May I sit?" he asked. She nodded and he sat on the steps next to her.

"I thought that maybe he would come back today, like last time," she said. "It was a stupid wish, but…"

"No it wasn't," he interrupted. "Your friend, Mr. Potter, he has a destiny that may too big for this place," Snape said. "But I believe that he will be fine, that he will live up to that destiny, even if he does not return."

"Do you think he won't come back?" she asked, shocked by this.

"I can't say," he said. Whether it was because he didn't know or wouldn't tell her, she wasn't sure.

"I've never really been here without him," she said, sadly. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he put his arm around her waist. When they heard footsteps on the marble floor, they pulled apart. It was Andrew headed back to his room. He stopped short when he saw Snape and Hermione sitting on the stone steps together. There was no sound but the grinding of the staircases moving above them. Andrew stared until Snape stood.

"I think it's far past time for you both to be in bed, head prefects or not," Snape said in a low, gravelly voice – as if he was daring Andrew to say something.

"Yes, Professor, thank you," Hermione said, unaffected by this change in him. "Good night." She started up the steps.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," he said, and then turned to watch Andrew edge himself up the stairs and then sprint to catch up with Hermione. Snape smirked, pleased he still had it.

oooo

Andrew dressed slowly the next morning. He'd been thinking about Hermione and Professor Snape most of the night. Something was unsettling the way that they'd been sitting together on the stairs, their head bowed, talking softly to one another. Andrew knew, of course, that he and Hermione had spent nearly three months alone, together, and it had been a glorious Snape-free three months, but still, if Andrew would have had to spend that much time alone with the greasy git, he would have thought it would have been even more uncomfortable to be around one another.

It looked as if they were friends. No, that wasn't quite right but he didn't know what word to use. Hermione had always been sort of an odd duck. She was a teachers pet and a know-it-all in a way that enraged most Ravenclaws. She was always at the top of the class – in all houses, and his house mates could never understand why she had been sorted in to Gryffindor. Snape was monumentally strange as well. Everyone knew his penchant for the dark side and most believed he had been in league with You-Know-Who, no matter what Dumbledore said. They were like two different sides of the same coin in their oddness. Both were brilliant, both were not very attractive, both were sitting in a precarious place of power among Harry Potter's elite.

Also, Andrew had noticed that Hermione had started wearing a ring. No one asked, she was most standoffish since Harry had fled and no one really wanted a tongue lashing from the head girl (especially the head boy), but there were rumors. The most virile rumor was that Harry had given it to her, but Andrew didn't believe that. Others thought that Ron had given it to her but Andrew had asked Ginny Weasley when he had caught her out after hours two days ago and she had assured her that it wasn't her brother and that she didn't know a thing about it. Andrew had let her go without taking a single point.

He had thought that maybe it was a Muggle boy waiting for her at home or maybe it was just a ring with some sort of family value – he had heard the story of how she and Snape and her parents had been whisked away – hidden by Potter during the summer. That's what he told anyone when they asked anyway but that night, so restless and long, he had revised his theory. He had seen Snape's spindly fingers against the back of Hermione's neck, their knees touching on the stairs. He thought that maybe, just maybe, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape were in love.

oooo

The day Albus Dumbledore came back without Harry Potter was the day that Hermione Granger threw her caution to the wind. She was worried sick about the lack of news on Harry, worried she would never see him again; worried he was done with fame and had thrown himself into obscurity for the rest of time. Hermione stayed out on patrol later and later, sacrificing sleep so she could keep and eye on the quiet castle for any sign of the headmaster and Harry returning. Snape had shifted his schedule so that he patrolled every night Hermione did. They didn't say much to each other but she was always aware of him, a few feet behind her, keeping an eye on her weary form. She appreciated this; she liked to know he was near. She paced, twirling the ring on her finger.

Then, nearly a month after school had reconvened, she was standing at the base of Gryffindor's hourglass, wondering who had lost 50 points since the last time she'd walked by an hour and a half ago when the large wooden doors sprung to life unlocking and creaking open. Dumbledore walked in and when she looked at him hopefully, he shook his head. Harry would not be returning to Hogwarts. She started to weep and when she turned around, Snape was there. She buried her face into his robes in defeat.


	15. Chapter 15

Albus Dumbledore was tired, too tired and old to deal with the sobbing head girl in his potions master's arms so he walked past them and allowed Severus to handle the situation as he may. Snape watched his mentor walk slowly up the stone steps and disappear around a corner while Hermione shook in his arms. It was nearly one in the morning and they were both tired. Snape shushed Hermione and helped her up the stairs and into her room. The crying didn't stop, only got louder and more heart wrenching. She couldn't speak, she couldn't breath, and before too long, she was on her knees in front of the toilet retching out her sorrows while Snape rubbed her back and shot a cooling mist from the tip of his wand against the nape of her neck.

Eventually she tired herself out and fell asleep. There were classes in the morning but he couldn't bring himself to leave her. Her face was red and blotchy from crying and her left eye was bloodshot from throwing up (he fixed it with his wand before she noticed) but he found her to be lovely in her sadness. He never wanted to leave her. No one had ever trusted him enough to fall asleep with him in the same room, to be ill with him, to hand their virginity over to him. Hermione was a puzzle he didn't understand but wanted to spend the rest of his life solving. He kissed her cheek and she groaned a little and rolled over to make space for him, unconsciously. So she dreamed of him while she slept, after all. He lay next to her, let his body warm hers, and fell asleep.

oooo

Snape rose before the sun. He woke up groggy and a little disoriented but remembered the previous night's activities clearly when he saw Hermione next to him, still fully clothed and on top of the bed linens. Her normal coloring had returned, thankfully, though he could see dark circles under her eyes. She still looked sad. One thing he had found both irritating and endearing about Hermione was that she always seemed confident but now she seemed unsure of herself, even in sleep. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. She woke up slowly, as if resisting the pull of reality. Finally, her eyes opened and she looked at him, her face round and open – her emotions to be read like a book. He didn't know what to say.

"I'd hoped…" She paused to clear her throat, her voice thick with sleep, "I'd hoped that when I got to spend the night with you again, that it would have gone differently."

"Me too," he said. "I have to leave, but I will see you later today, in class," he promised.

"Do you think if I were to go ask headmaster Dumbledore a few questions, do you think he would answer them?" she asked.

"I think he owes you that much," Snape said standing and pulling his boots onto his long feet. She sat up to walk him out of the room and then remembered the door that would lead to nearly any place in the castle. She tapped her wand and called for his office. He leaned down and kissed her lips lightly, a kiss not for passion but for comfort and warmth. She watched him disappear with watery eyes.

It was a nice reprieve, having him near to share her vulnerability with her but now she showered and dressed in a newly cleaned uniform and she hardened herself for what she thought would be a difficult conversation – perhaps one sided conversation – with the Headmaster. It was early, before breakfast, so she had plenty of time before classes started. It helped that she was right next to his office. She spoke the password ("tiramisu") and stepped on to the staircase so it lifted her into the quiet, sleepy office. He was not in, understandably, who knew how tired he was. Still, she looked at Fawkes sitting on his perch, watching her intently.

"Could you wake him for me?" she asked, apologetically. The bird tilted it's head and swooped off the perch and down a hallway. She sat down on the straight backed chair and waited primly. It was only a few minutes before Dumbledore emerged carrying a tray of tea.

"Just in time for my morning tea, Miss Granger, I do hope you'll share some with me," he said.

"I don't mean to be forward," she said, ignoring his offer.

"But you want to know about Harry," he finished. "I cannot blame you for that, I'm afraid." She nodded. He handed her a cup of tea – he always seemed to know just how she preferred it. "Don't you think Mr. Weasley would like to hear this as well?" he asked.

"Ron and I… without Harry, Ron and I aren't sure where we stand with one another," she admitted freely. "Harry was our glue, he was everyone's glue, and now how am I supposed to stay together without him?" she asked, and she'd started to cry, even though she'd been practicing not crying all morning.

"Everyone is glue in their own way. Severus, for instance," he pointed out. "He needs so badly to be important to someone."

"I need him, too, he is important in a different way than Harry," she said. "Do you know where Harry is?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "But I promised that I wouldn't tell anyone. Not even you. It took me nearly a month to find him and in less than a day he had managed to send me away. He will not stay away forever, and he loves you Hermione."

"Why did he leave?" she asked, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

"I take the blame for that," Dumbledore said, looking out his window forlornly. "I made him into a soldier when he never wanted to fight. He's tired now. He's taking a break and when he's ready he will come back and he will find you. That's a promise."

"And Voldemort?" she asked. But Dumbledore shook his head, his mouth in a firm line.

"That is not my story to tell."

oooo

The headmaster walked her to breakfast and there was a collective sigh of relief when everyone saw Dumbledore take his rightful place at the high table. Slowly but surely normal, happy chatter returned. Hermione told Ron and Ginny what she knew in low whispers. She still sat with Ron and mealtimes and next to him in their shared classes but they didn't talk about anything anymore. Ron had formed his own circle of Qudditch friends and while growing out of their friendship could have been bitter and painful, it wasn't. They would always be friends – they had shared too much for that ever to change.

It seemed to take forever for potions class to come. NEWTs level potions was a class of eight people from all four classes. It was Hogwarts' elite. Hermione sat at one of the front stations and at this point in the semester they needed very little direction. Most of them were in a month long brewing cycle so they just gathered their cauldrons, removed the stasis charm, and set about their work. Hermione was working on brewing Wolfsbane because it was challenging and practical. Snape could always give it to Professor Lupin if it was successful. She set about chopping and pulverizing. She was aware of Snape sitting at his desk, writing essays. About halfway through the double period, he stood and handed back their last quizzes. On the back of hers (95 out of 100, the git) was his scrawl in precise red ink.

My office, after patrol.

This was a surprising note. Usually they avoided each other. Now he wanted to see her after hours alone? She was happy to have something to look forward to, of course, but it was still surprising. Still, when the bells chimed midnight, ending her patrol, she walked briskly down toward the dungeons and rapped three times on his office door.

"Come in," he said, and she did so. The office was cold and dark, lit only by a few candles. The snow had been falling steadily for some time now and it seemed to make his dungeon office practically uninhabitable.

"It's freezing!" she exclaimed. He shrugged.

"Perhaps you should look up warming charms in your second year charms textbook," he said in a drawl that was quite characteristically Snape. She sat down, glaring.

"You wished to see me, SIR?"

"Oh, none of that," he said, leaning back. "I thought perhaps you would like to talk about your meeting with the headmaster."

"He told you?" she asked.

"I asked," he admitted. "He thought that I could perhaps be helpful in your time of need."

"He is sure singing a different tune," she said, sourly.

"I don't think he meant shagging," Snape said. "But if that is what you need…"

"Severus!" she said, smiling. "How indecent."

"I'm not sure I know how to be a confidant for you, but regardless, I am here if you need me," he said. He cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling. "I love you, Hermione. You know that, right?" She smiled, and reaching across the desk to clasp his fingers.

"I love you, too," she assured him. "And whether we talk or not, you've helped me already." He nodded and they sat in silence for a while.

"Have you thought about what you will do when you graduate?" he asked her finally, trying to sound like an interested professor over an insanely curious love interest.

"Some," she answered noncommittally. "There is always university, both wizard and Muggle."

"An unnecessary step at best," he interrupted.

"A university degree practically cements you into any job you could want," she argued.

"You are brilliant," he said. "You will get whatever apprenticeship that you choose."

"You are probably right," she sighed. "I haven't forgotten what you said about a potions apprenticeship," she added because she knew that he was trying to steer the conversation in that direction.

"An offer that still stands, if approached correctly," he said.

"I've been thinking of something else," she said. His eyebrows raised.

"Oh?"

"The Unspeakables," she said quietly, as if the name – not just the people – were such. This surprised him, though, in retrospect, it shouldn't have. Gryffindors often went to work for the Ministry – for the Ministry of Magic was the stereotypical good – they were the government there to help the people whether they did so or not. The Unspeakables, though, while a department within the Ministry, were given the most leeway because they dealt with everything the Ministry didn't want to. They were like aurors, Snape thought, with class.

"I think that would suit you," Snape said, honestly. "Though here is still much about the job I don't know."

"There is a lot that can't be known until you are accepted as an Unspeakable," she pointed out. It was partly what drew her to the occupation. The fire crackled.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Famished," she said, relieved. He stood and with a flourish, led her out of his office.

He allowed her to run her fingers over the underside of the pears. She still took pleasure from the small things that magic offered. Most house elves were out cleaning or in bed but the three in the kitchens rounded up some cream based soup and hunks of fresh bread for them to consume. They sat beside one another at the wooden table. Hermione scraped her spoon against her bowl; Snape chewed on the crust of his bread. He watched her eyes droop.

"Why don't you go to bed?" he said.

"I'm scared to," she answered.

"Would you like a dreamless sleep potion?" She nodded. And so they walked together to his chambers and into his private lab where he gave her a corked vial. Before he could stop her, she took out the cork and threw back the contents of the vial. It was only seconds before she began to crumple. Rolling his eyes, he scooped her up and carried her to his bed.

oooo

She woke up suddenly and abruptly as the dreamless sleep wore off. She had rarely taken the potion without the other pain dulling potions and decided she didn't like it. Shaking herself awake, she pushed off the linens and tiptoed away from the bed as not to wake Snape. She sat on the edge of the tub feeling a little shaky. She could hear a far away drumming, and she knew it to be rain. Outside it was probably pouring but because they were so deep within the castle, all she heard was a distant echo. At least, she thought, the rain might melt the snow. She splashed cool water on her face and pressed into his black towel. It smelled of his spicy aftershave. She hadn't realized the potion worked so quickly and chastised her self for being rash and endangering both of them. It was hot-headed and Gryffindor. He had probably been irritated with her but he let her stay with him.

She knew she should take leave of him now but this opportunity was golden. She was more calm now – awake without feeling jolted – and so she went back to bed. He stirred when she pressed herself into his lank, shirtless form and awoke when she moved so her knee was between his legs. It was clear she was feeling better; clear what she wanted and he wasn't going to deny her.

oooo

March melted the last of the snow and the ice cracked open over the lake. They would see the giant squid soon and it reminded her that while change was inevitable, some things remained the same. Spring fever was starting to set in and Hermione was taking away points from nearly everyone she came across. The Weasley twins made a fortune off Hogwarts alone – she could practically open her own shop with the products she confiscated and deposited in, unfortunately, Filch's office. She couldn't blame the students, though. She was tired of the castle walls herself and often took walks on the grounds when she had a chance. Sometimes Snape would accompany her. They would circle the lake and walk to the pitch and back. He would verbally quiz her on potions and ingredients that were NEWT level for the tests were only a few months away. The NEWTs were also the light at the end of a very long tunnel for the two of them. It marked the end of term… graduation not far behind.

Hermione assumed the ring on her finger would become an engagement ring. She didn't tell him that she thought that but they had endured this much. The only way society would ever accept them was if they made it legal. Maybe he wouldn't ask. Either way, she wanted to wake up next to him and not have to worry about sneaking away. When they were out of view of both the castle and the pitch, he took her hand.

It became common place to see the dour potions master in the company of the head girl but it was all very professional. When overheard, they were often speaking of prefect duties, house points, or the NEWTs. They never touched, never spoke improperly. They only odd thing that fueled countless rumors was the fact that they seemed to enjoy one another's company so immensely. Many wondered what had happened between fall and spring term. They went from never being seen together to being seen with one another daily. No one complained, however, for he was nearly civil during potions lessons.

It was Andrew who worried Hermione the most. He looked at her most peculiarly and stared at her ring as if in deep thought. Hermione was not oblivious to the rumors and she felt that the most vicious came from the cold, calculating house of Ravenclaw. Was Andrew spearheading that? He seemed so demure but he was made head boy for a reason. Had he cut throats to get to the top? Still, Dumbledore knew of their relationship as well and as long as they were proper – which mostly they were – Hermione didn't fear for her education or reputation. The slip ups between Snape and Hermione were few and only crisis induced, thus far. Theirs was possibly the most demure love affair that year. Lavender, no matter who her partner was that week, always had them beat.

Hermione kept herself quite busy studying by the time April rolled around and by May, she spent more time in the library than in her rooms. Snape would demand that she attend at least two meals and sleep five to six hours every night. They no longer walked but occasionally, if it was late enough, he would allow her to bring her study materials to his office so they could sit quietly together while he did his grading.

Ron and she studied in the common room on Wednesday evenings simply because she was throwing him a bone and by the end of May, every seventh year Gryffindor attended. Mid-June meant that it was time. Hermione needed top marks to be accepted into the training program of the Unspeakables (she'd already applied and so two copies of her NEWT scores would be sent out: one to her and one to the department of mysteries). If not, she would stay on at Hogwarts to study to be a Potions Mistress. Really, though, she would stay on at the castle regardless.

Ron said that he didn't want to do anything after graduation. He said that he would wait for Harry – that maybe he would go find him. He wasn't the same. Hermione tried to convince him that Harry didn't want to be found, that maybe Ron should try to get a job in the ministry; that perhaps Mr. Weasley could set something up but Ron wouldn't be convinced. He made no plans except to go back to the Burrow and live in his old bedroom. Hermione didn't want Ron to fail but she had her own life to worry about. She couldn't take care of him forever. Still, she sent a note to the Weasley twins begging them to offer their younger brother a job so he wouldn't waste away.

The morning of the first day of testing, Hermione was the first person in for breakfast with a huge stack of notes, nibbling at a corner of her toast nervously. She could see the carriages out front that meant the ministry officials had arrived to proctor the NEWTs to the seventh years and the OWLs to the fifth years. She thought that really, she would do fine, but she wished that Harry was there so he could finish his schooling once and for all and not have to worry about it! And she wished she could see Snape alone so he could wish her luck and tell her she would be fine.

Soon enough, everyone was there for breakfast and everyone looked nervous because it was exams of some sort all around. She saw Snape sitting at the high table but he did not meet her eye or acknowledge her any more or less than other students. The bells rang over head and she knew it was time to go.


	16. Chapter 16

Graduation was not quite the hoopla she'd expected it to be. She'd never been to a Hogwarts graduation before. Usually the end of her school year was wrought with chaos from whatever brush with Voldemort they were caught up in and so they were too busy to bother watching people they weren't especially close to graduate. She figured it would be similar to Muggle ceremonies. They'd walk across a stage in a stifling robe with their families looking on. But when the seventh years were gathered together in the great hall, Dumbledore told them that their parents wouldn't be invited nor would most of the younger grades. Only the fifth and sixth years could attend if they wanted, but generally they declined.

It would just be the students and the professors in a small, sentimental ceremony that gave them leave of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and allowed the professors to acknowledge them as adults, no longer students in their care. Hermione looked forward to that. It might make her transition with Severus easier for everyone to accept. They were given new, highly formal school robes by the elves. They were adult dress robes that were one piece rather than fastening in front with the Hogwarts crest, not their houses crest, on the front.

The day came and was warm. The robes were still stifling, but she didn't care. And then, quite suddenly it seemed to Hermione, it was over. She looked down to look at the roll of official parchment in her grasp. It was tied off with red ribbon because she was a Gryffindor but really, she was no longer a student and therefore belonged to no house. She wanted to untie the ribbon and look at every letter printed there but she didn't want to upset the perfection of the roll so instead she tucked it away.

People were milling around with the same surprised look she wore on her face. Some were eating from the buffet; some were talking and laughing, some soliciting some last advice from professors. Some had left immediately to pack – to ready themselves for their long awaited departure. Hermione looked for Ron, but he wasn't there. Part of her wanted to search him out, talk to him one last time but she didn't. She let him go.

The crowd started to thin and so she extracted herself from the conversation Luna was trying to engage her in and made her way to the edge of the room, to the western wall, where he waited quietly for her.

"Are you ready?" he asked, not wanting to rush her out of these last, lingering moments.

"Quite," she said and so he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her out of the great hall. By nightfall, the train had left and Hermione had not been aboard. If anyone had still wondered at the nature of Hermione Granger and Severus Snape's relationship, this action answered any residual questions. Andrew, no longer head boy, had looked for her on the train but was unsurprised when he didn't find her. He quickly forgot her, though, at the prospect of seeing his family once again.

Hermione, no longer head girl, was used to the castle deserted. Instead of leaving, she'd simply had her things packed and sent down to the dungeons. The elves left her luggage in the small room that had once belonged to her. Snape had a hot meal sent to his quarters. She changed out of her uniform (for the last time) and into a pair of worn, broken-in jeans and a long sleeve, hooded shirt, black, that was soft and comfortable.

She sat across from him and they ate in silence. He didn't force her to talk about anything and she, for once, wasn't sure what to say. She was happy, relieved, sad, and unsure how to proceed.

"When do you hear from the Ministry?" he asked, finally, pouring her a cup of after meal tea.

"A few weeks. I ordered a rush on my NEWT results," she said.

"Wise of you," he agreed. She nodded, yawned. "I thought you might leave tonight," he said. Her eyes widened.

"Did you not want me to…?"

"I'm pleased you stayed," he assured her. "I just thought perhaps you'd want to see your family. Are you tired?"

"A bit," she admitted. "Is there anything left for you to do tonight?"

"No," he said. And so, he took her to bed.

oooo

They had only been intimate twice and always timidly and rushed. They were renegades, sneaks, perpetually bending the rules and that in itself was a kind of enjoyment but not the lasting kind. It was not how they always wanted it to be. For all of Hermione's interests, and there were many, sex had never really made it on to her radar. She'd read about it, of course, but from a scientific point of view. She wanted to know how it worked. Once she'd learned that, she filed it away and moved on. Ron had been far more interested during their brief courtship but she had flatly refused and broke it off when she realized that she would never want that with Ron.

Now, though, she was quite interested and she wanted to be good at it. She wanted it to be good for Snape. She knew very little of Snape's sexual history. She assumed that he was at least more experienced than she, but she wasn't sure how to go about asking for more of his history. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know.

She would think on it. She believed honesty was the best policy and certainly Snape didn't appreciate being lied to. As for now, he was removing his shirt, button by button, and Hermione felt overwhelmingly shy. This act between them was not new, per se, but she felt as if he was seeing her for this first time. Last time she'd been so forward and emboldened but she couldn't find that fire within herself now.

He noticed, but to him it seemed as if she was having second thoughts. He ceased undressing and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. Seeing his fear, the rejection written plainly across his face, she sat next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I just want this so much," she said. "I feel like I've been waiting forever. Ever since that first day, when I was sick and you held me after class to ask me about it. Do you remember that?" she asked.

"Yes. I knew what was wrong. I'd known for weeks but I kept hoping I was wrong," he said.

"You cared even then," she said.

"Despite myself," he agreed.

"You were… not kind, exactly, but I could see that you cared and even though I was sick, I wanted to know that man. Not Professor Snape, but that man who cared."

"Did I not become that man for you?" he asked.

"I never thought I would fall in love with you," she continued. "That I would throw all caution to the wind."

"No one is forcing you to be here," he said, a little bitterly.

"Don't you understand? I never want to be anywhere but with you! And I'm so scared it's going to be yanked away." He turned and looked at her.

"I won't let that happen," he said.

"Promise me?" she said, smiling faintly. He leaned down and kissed her instead, but she took that as a yes.

oooo

It was unusual for a trainee to get an assignment like the one Hermione had, but her supervisor had said something about 'unusual circumstances.' Nothing was ever explicitly stated in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione was figuring out, you were given an assignment, a place to go, a person to find, and what you were supposed to do revealed itself. Hermione, mostly, read up on old case files or did things around the office. Labeling, shelving, casting spells. It took her a week to figure out the layout of the place and she had been there once in her fifth year at Hogwarts. She'd been with the Unspeakables for almost six months now. She loved it, it was perfect for her, and she came to work eager to learn every morning.

This morning, though, she was apparating to a small country home in a mostly Muggle area, looking for a small, broken down wooden house. She hoped she would understand what she was supposed to do next when she got there. Trainees nearly never went out into the field and she was even more surprised when told she was going alone but the 'unusual circumstances' required it. Her supervisor assured her she would be in no danger. That she would understand in time.

Finally, she found the house and after fighting her way through the thick foliage growing over the path, she knocked on the door. She didn't expect it to open, anyone to be living there, but finally, after much commotion inside, the door flew open. Hermione had her wand up and the gruff looking man was in the same position. He was filthy, in Muggle clothes with unruly hair and a thick, dark beard. He dropped his wand first.

"Hermione?" She was confused for a moment; this weirdo knew her? But there was something in the tone of his voice, in the color of his eyes.

"HARRY!" She screamed, launching herself at him, and hugging him tightly, despite the smell. He hugged her back mostly out of shock and she finally let go, tears in her eyes. "Harry," she said again, just because it felt nice to say his name without worrying he was dead.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking her up and down again. "Are those ministry robes?"

She looked down at her black robes. They were unremarkable, meant to blend in to normal wizarding society. The only thing that marked her as a trainee was the thin strip of silver fabric across her shoulders. They didn't look like normal ministry robes but she wasn't surprised that Harry recognized them as such. Anyway, she understood why an unspeakable was sent to find Harry Potter and she understood why they sent her.

"Harry, it's time," she said, calmly.

"I'm not going back," he said, moving into the house.

"God, Harry, where are we?" she asked, disgusted. Her wand hand itched to cast a few simple cleaning spells before she dared to touch anything.

"Voldemort's house," he said, calmly. She looked around, instantly repulsed. Underneath the filth and the normal decay of an ancient, unkempt house there were signs of battle. Broken beams and scorched walls.

"Is this where…?" but she didn't have to finish the sentence. She knew it to be true. This is where the final battle had taken place. Not at Hogwarts where she was safe in the arms of Severus Snape, but here between a boy and a monster. Against all hope, the boy had won but Harry had come back here to let himself fester for almost a year. Now it was her job to get him to leave. She sat down next to him on the decaying sofa. He watched the window like it was a television. "This is really unacceptable."

"I didn't ask your opinion," he said.

"When have I ever waited for someone to want my opinion?" she asked. She pointed her wand at the table before them, littered with rotting food and back issues of news papers and cleared it with her wand. At least now nothing was rotting in her direct line of vision. "So, don't you want to at least know what I've been up to? About Dumbledore? About Ginny and Ron?" she asked. He didn't respond. "I'm engaged," she blurted. This caught his attention and he looked at her hand, at the ring that she'd worn for almost the same amount of time he'd been gone.

"Blimey," he said. "I wasn't even sure you liked boys, Hermione."

"Ha ha," she said, happy to hear him say something. "I want you to be in our lives, Harry. It's time for you to come back."

"I'm not ready," he said. "Dumbledore said…"

"I have no doubt Dumbledore arranged this meeting in the first place," she said. "Please, Harry."

"I have nothing to come back to," he said.

"You have everything," she countered. "No one is going to make you tell what happened."

"I can't talk about it," he said.

"You won't have to," she said. "It's time." He looked down into his lap, he bit his lip. His eyes were bright but he nodded.

Hermione had not been wrong about her assumption that Dumbledore was behind having Harry come back into normal, not hermit-like wizarding society. He was waiting at the department of mysteries, sitting in the office of her supervisor. Harry seemed to draw strength from the older man (it had always been that way) and though Dumbledore thanked her for her assistance, Harry was whisked away and her supervisor told her she could go home early if she wanted to. This was rare and so, worried, she gathered her things and apparated home.

She couldn't live in the castle and that she understood. This was her first year out and there were still tons of students who knew her and her and Snape's relationship was so scandalous in the first place that she just took a flat in Hogsmeade and only went to the school on weekends during times she would least likely be seen. He spent a few nights a week with her, on nights he didn't have to patrol and it was good. Besides, if he went through the tunnel in the shrieking shack, he could be within the castle walls in nine minutes, in case of an emergency.

They would be married in the summer. There would be no lavish wedding, not even a traditional wizarding ritual. They would merely go to the town hall in Hogsmeade and sign a few documents. It would be done, quietly, tastefully. Time would pass, and perhaps after enough years, Hermione would move into Snape's quarters at Hogwarts or perhaps he would leave his teaching position of nearly two decades and they would find a small house, together. It didn't matter right now for Harry was back, Hermione was home, and on the sofa was a tall, dark man reading a book and Hermione Granger was in love.


End file.
